Doc Martin: The Movie
by Stella Dellasera
Summary: Post Series 2. Martin and Pauline are dealing with the after effects of the trauma of being held hostage in the surgery by crazy Jonathan, and Louisa has decided she needs a temporary break from Portwenn after her father was arrested. Meanwhile, a movie crew has come to the village to film a remake of "Rebecca," starring a famous actor who once lived in Portwenn as a teenager.
1. Chapter 1

While we're all waiting for Series 8 to premier, I wanted to revisit the earlier days of DM. This takes place right after the events of the TV movie "On The Edge" but just before the start of S3E1 ("The Apple Doesn't Fall"/"Tick Tock"). I played around with the timeline a bit because I wanted to introduce P.C. Penhale into my story a little earlier than he shows up in the actual show.

It's kind of a prequel to my story "Louisa Glasson and the Green Mermaid" and a sequel my (M rated) story "Erotophobia," but you don't really need to be familiar with either one to follow the action.

I'm indebted to Alfred Hitchcock and Daphne Du Maurier, as well as William Shakespeare and another TV show set in a quirky Cornish village "Wild West," and probably a bunch of other people and shows, and of course Buffalo Pictures and the cast, writers, and crew of DM.

Disclaimer: All characters, places, and situations of Doc Martin are owned by Buffalo Pictures and I would never dream of infringing on any rights of the owners, producers, or anyone else connected with the show.

Chapter 1: A Favour for a Friend

Saturday Morning (Early August)

Martin Ellingham stepped out onto the stone terrace in front of his home, with a cup of espresso in hand. He took a leisurely sip and surveyed the scene before him. Out over the ocean a nearly full moon was slipping beneath the dark horizon. A final few stars were fading out with the growing daylight. He tried to spot any constellations, without success. He knew many of them from when he was a child, spending summers and holidays here, but he could barely remember their names now.

Down at the harbour, sea birds waited as the tide moved out. As the slow sea pulled at the shore and withdrew, over and over, leaving a strip of seaweed and detritus, the birds raced back and forth upon the beach, feeding on whatever they could find. He used to know their names too, so long ago, but as with the constellations he hadn't given thought to such things in years.

Some fishermen were already preparing their boats for the workday, but most of the village below his vantage point still slept. A few lights were lit here and there for those who rose early even on a Saturday, but the windows of a certain cottage across the harbour, to which his eye was drawn as if to the brightest star in his sky, remained dark.

It had been unseasonably chilly for the time of year, but the wind had changed overnight and it felt like summer again. The sea breeze was gentle, the leaves were still green, and the songbirds were out in force. In particular, he recognized the melodious song of what he thought might be a nightingale. The rising sun behind him cast a glow across the rooftops below, a radiance that started out rosy and was slowly changing to soft gold. The dew had been heavy, and the grass was silver in the early light.

No ringing phones, no rumbling traffic, no barking dogs, no gossipy malingerers. This was his favourite part of the day, when the idiot chatter of life had not yet awoken and the world was still at peace.

He took another sip of espresso and lifted a strip of lightly buttered toast from the saucer to take a bite.

Suddenly a swiftly moving shadow fell over him and he flung his arm up in surprise just in time for a seagull to snatch the toast from his hand and make a quick getaway. He waved both arms in panic and disgust, spilling the coffee on his silk tie. "Filthy creature!"

Martin stalked back into the house, deposited cup and saucer in the sink and doused them with rubbing alcohol before giving them a thorough scrubbing in hot water, just in case the revolting bird had touched them. Then he scrubbed his hands as well and went upstairs to change his tie.

Now wearing the stern expression that was the customary face he showed to the world, he went out to his car, a dented and rusted Ford sedan on loan from the local garage while his silver Lexus was being repaired, and put his medical bag in the boot.

He drove out to Dinnabroad Farm, parked the old Ford among some equally dented and rusted vehicles and made his way among tents and animal pens to where a group of farmers were waiting in a field beside where a big wheel and a carousel were being set up.

"Glad you could join us this year, Doc. We really value your discerning eye," said one of them, a man he recognized as having treated for asthma several times.

"Hm. It's not by choice I assure you," he replied. "I'm only doing it as a favour… for a friend."

He followed them under a banner that read "Bodmin Fair's Seventh Annual Farmer-Pig Lookalike Competition: Best Pair of Twins Wins." Under the banner a sign read: "Are You A Double or a Doubtful?"

Martin was doubtful of the very premise of the event, determining which farmer-and-pig pair most resembled each other. These men were around their animals so much they formed an unhealthy, delusional attachment to them, he thought. Still, he remembered his promise and steeled himself to the task.

As a crowd of gawkers gathered round, a dozen pairs of men and swine lined up, with numbered badges. Martin was given a clipboard on which to make notes. He looked at the first pair, a ginger bearded man and a completely black pig, wearing matching cowboy hats and sheriff's stars. "What's this? Your ridiculous costume doesn't make you resemble this animal in the least!"

"Nothing in the rules says you can't enhance your look with a few props, Doc," the man said. "You got to look beyond the superficial. Me and Boris here share the adventuresome spirit of the Old West in our hearts." The crowd clapped approvingly.

With a dismissive grunt, Martin moved on down the line. There were men and beasts sharing fake moustaches, wigs, sunglasses, even Hawaiian shirts. As he forced himself to make an effort to study each pair he was surprised to begin to see an unexpected resemblance beyond the silly fancy dress. Some of the men had pink stubbly swine-like skin, or dark sunken eyes, or heavy jowls. One had a lock of hair flopping into his face like a pig's ear. Then he came to the end of the line, to a man and pig unadorned with any props.

Martin was not given to flights of imagination but he was startled to see the man had _all_ the porcine traits – the stubbly skin, sunken eyes, jowls, and floppy hair – plus an exaggeratedly upturned nose that aimed his hairy nostrils outward, very much like that of the pig beside him. He wore a white T-shirt with grey spots like his pig's spots but it was hardly necessary, as his pale liver-spotted skin already resembled the animal's coat. Man and pig looked at him expectantly, and Martin wasn't sure if the pig's eyes showed an unusual intelligence for its species or if the man's were comparatively dull for his own.

This was where the prize clearly belonged. He looked down at his clipboard. "Erm, the winner is… Mr. Hugh Hogh and his Gloucester Old Spot sow… er, Choogy-Pig."

The partisans in the crowd cheered or groaned, according to who their favourites were, and Mr. Hogh was presented with a trophy topped with a silver pig, and a bottle of whiskey.

"Thanks Doc," the unappealing winner said. "You ever come round Hogh Farm I'll get you some nice pork chops. Not from my Choogy though!"

"No thank you. Er… you know that can be corrected with rhinoplasty surgery."

"What can be?" Hogh looked at him in perfect innocence.

"Ah, never mind."

"Stick around Doc, they're bringing the heavy horses out now and the pony and dog show is about to start, you don't want to miss that," the farmer with asthma said. Martin wrinkled his nose at the thought. The fairgrounds were beginning to fill up with people, and the cacophony of the carousel and the odour of doughnuts, pasties, and candy floss was beginning to overwhelm him.

As the farmers slapped Mr. Hogh on the back Martin took the opportunity to slip away to attend to his next favour.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Gossip

Saturday Midday.

As Martin drove away in the opposite direction of the traffic stream heading into the fairgrounds he began to relax a bit. He drove the rattley old Ford on the moor road, sailing along by himself until a road block appeared ahead.

He was fourth in a line of vehicles held up by a man with a stop sign. Up ahead there appeared to be some sort of commotion going on, focused on a man and a woman in old fashioned dress, sitting in a 1930s vintage car. They appeared to be arguing about something, as a crowd of people in modern clothing gathered around them holding large cameras, lights, and boom microphones. A man wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a baseball cap yelled "Cut!" then directed the couple to go through their scene again. The director made some imperceptible adjustments to the lighting and the way they were sitting, then made them go through it a third time.

Martin sat there fuming in the cramped little sedan until the film crew moved the equipment out of the way and the traffic warden waved him and the other waiting vehicles through. In the rear view mirror he could see the crew move everything back in for another run through the scene.

He continued on his way to Havenhurst Farm, where he got his medical bag out of the boot. He knocked and let himself in the kitchen door. A fresh baked smelled filled the house. "You're late," said Aunt Joan. She was seated at the table with a cup of tea. A plate of sandwiches sat ready, as an apple cake was cooling on the counter.

"You didn't fill up on pasties and cider at the fair, did you?" she teased him.

"Certainly not. Your fresh chicken salad and homemade whole meal bread are far healthier than any fair food," Martin replied. "But first, I need to examine your leg, from where you were, um…"

"Pumped full of shotgun pellets?" she said.

His mind flashed back to that day, when he was in this very kitchen, wrapping her other ankle where she had sprained it, and Colonel Spencer was blathering on about the chough birds out on the cliff. The colonel had left the shotgun he was supposedly an expert with loaded and propped upright on a chair. When Martin went to grab his medical bag the bloody thing fell over and went off, blasting some crockery - and Joan.

 _The Colonel shouted "Oh God! You've killed her!"_

 _For one awful moment, Martin was really scared, as scared as he had ever been in his entire adult life before. Then his aunt's shout of "you bloody, bloody fool!" reassured him that she was very much alive and very justifiably furious._

"I should remind you that was an _accident_ ," Martin said. Joan gave him a stern look. "Er yes, well, I should have been more cautious. Sorry about that."

"Well you were careless with that gun, and so was the Colonel, but I managed to survive. No hard feelings, Marty." She smiled at him and patted his shoulder as he unwrapped the bandages. "It seems to be healing nicely. Doesn't stop me from getting around."

"Yes, everything looks fine. You should have no long term effects, but you should still rest up and use your cane for at least another week," he said. "Right then, you relax and I'll set the table."

He poured himself a cup of tea and sat down with her. "So you were at the fair," she said. "I wouldn't have missed it, but for being temporarily laid up. Jim Sim used to be a regular favourite with farmer-pig look-a-likes. How did they manage to persuade you to be a part of it?"

"Strictly a one-off only. Favour for a friend."

"Louisa talked you into it, didn't she. So she's having an effect on you after all. Stands to reason, you two have been through a lot together lately."

"Mm, yes. She's gone off to stay with a friend in London for a few days, just to, er… recuperate, clear her mind with a change of scene she said, before the new school term begins."

"Not a bad idea. You should consider taking a break from work after such a stressful incident, Marty. You were lucky no one really got hurt but it must have been so frightening. It wouldn't surprise me if everyone involved ended up with a measure of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"I do not have PTSD and you should leave the diagnosing to me. I simply prefer not to dwell on things. Working is how I relieve stress."

She chuckled and took a sip of tea. "I suppose you must miss Louisa though."

The tips of his ears turning pink, Martin was eager to change the subject. "I, erm… ran into a road block coming out here. Some sort of commotion on the moor road."

"Oh, that'll be the film crew then," she said. "They'll be around for weeks to come so you'd better get used to them. It's been in the papers and on the radio. The daily filming schedule is posted at the Village Hall, telling where and when the crew will be so people know what roads to avoid. Don't you ever pay attention to the local goings-on, Martin?"

He grunted. "Bloody nuisance."

"Most people don't mind. It's only temporary and it showcases the natural scenic beauty around here. Brings in the tourists, and tourism is the lifeblood of Portwenn, just as much as fishing and farming."

Their sandwiches finished, Aunt Joan started to stand to fetch the apple cake but he insisted she remain seated while he got it. He even consented to having a small piece, knowing it made her happy.

"Some of the filming is over at Wenn Hall," she said. "Not that the Wenn family is hurting for money but it can't be easy keeping such a large house and estate in good repair. Michael Wenn was due for a run of luck after losing his wife in the boating accident last year. Mind you, he hasn't exactly taken to his bed with grief. I understand he came back from abroad with a new wife recently. A much younger wife."

Martin snorted in derision. "I wouldn't know. I don't pay attention to the local goings-on, remember?"

"Of course, you're above such things," she said in a sarcastic tone. Then, with a sparkle in her eye, she added, "so, did you see _him?_ "

"Did I see who?"

"Well, Jago Powell of course!"

 _"_ _Who?"_

"Jago Powell! The movie star! He's only won two BAFTAs and an Oscar nomination. Named People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive two years ago. Oh Martin, you really should pay more attention to things. He's here doing a remake of _Rebecca_ , that's what all the filming is about, with that American actress Wynnie Barlow. He's simply _gorgeous_. If I were 20 years younger I'd be right out there offering to be his, um, _personal assistant_."

Martin was appalled. "Oh, Auntie Joan! Do you really think that's appropriate at your age?"

"I'm not dead, Martin, I can still appreciate an attractive man. There was a rumour going around last year that he was in the vicinity scouting out filming locations so everybody's excited it turned out to be true. And on top of everything, Jago Powell is a local boy, spent a whole school term here once before his family moved again. And now he's all grown up and famous. It just adds to the excitement."

"Hm. A whole school term here in Portwenn. He's about as much of a local as I am then." Martin scowled. "Why do they need to remake _Rebecca_ anyway? It's a Hitchcock classic."

"Oh, Martin." Aunt Joan chuckled again. "So you do know _something_ about popular culture, even if it's a movie that came out when I was a girl."

On his way home, Martin took the long way round, making sure to give the film crew a wide berth. When he finally arrived in the village he pulled in to the car park at Kernow's Garage and turned off the engine. The old Ford sedan was quite cramped and uncomfortable for a man his size, not to mention generally being an embarrassment to be seen in. He was relieved to be getting his own car back, after the damage done to it by that idiot Jonathan Crozier.

Martin thought back to That Day, just about a week ago. As bad as it was when Aunt Joan got shot, things only got worse from there, when the mentally unstable patient turned what had started out as a very bad day into one of the worst of Martin's life.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Choose From the Following Statements…

One Week Earlier

 _Martin walked down toward the Harbour Café, Jonathan's voice playing in his head. "Sadness. Choose from the following statements the one which mostly applies to you: I do not feel sad, I feel sad much of the time, I feel sad all of the time. Pessimism…"_

 _Louisa's father had brought the mentally unbalanced man to the surgery so Martin could provide a prescription for the medication the man so clearly needed, and, in addition to obsessing about the smoke detector on the ceiling, the patient kept mocking the written test Martin wanted him to take for bipolar disorder._

 _"_ _How 'bout you Doc? Do you ever feel helpless? Do you feel totally helpless, a little helpless, not helpless at all? Choose from the following statements the one which most applies to you…"_

Sadness. Pessimism. Helplessness. _Martin needed to focus, to prepare his arguments for the review panel. He would stick to his record of medical care for the village, which was exemplary, no one could argue with that. They were lucky to have him, rather than making do with some tea-and-biscuit-serving mediocrity as they had before his arrival. He had dazzled the original interview panel that had hired him and he was certain he could do it again._

 _As he rounded the corner into the harbour front, he was dismayed to see the pasty-eating contest was about to commence. Despite Martin's stern lecture the day before about the baker possibly having a stomach infection, there he was in his chef's whites presiding over a panel of competitors, including Bert Large, all poised to stuff their faces with the potentially contaminated meat pies._

 _Martin had to intervene for their own good, but the ungrateful mob only pelted him with pasties before he could confiscate them all._

 _By the time Martin arrived at the restaurant where the panel had convened, he was late and thoroughly aggravated. All his carefully prepared arguments were gone and he was left with a sense of profound frustration. He strode into the room, still clutching the black bin bag of pasties, and was confronted by the smug, disapproving Gavin Peters._

 _"_ _Can we push this along? Something I have to attend to. I also have potentially infected processed meat in my hair." Martin was painfully aware that this was the third time he had to face the unctuous, platitudinizing eunuch whilst some noxious substance soiled his face or clothing._

 _He cut short Peters' officious blather. "All right, look. You've carried out your investigation, you've got lots of evidence, and I don't doubt that you've reached your conclusion. So why don't you just cut to the chase."_

 _It was Louisa who saved him. "You know, I'm actually quite surprised by some of the people that you've chosen to interview about Dr. Ellingham," she said, calling Peters out for focusing on the testimonies of those who, as she put it, "enjoy whinging."_

 _"_ _Miss Glasson, what's your point?" Peters demanded._

 _"_ _Well… even I find Dr. Ellingham a little bit…_ frustrating, _at times."_

 _Martin ignored how the two silent members of the panel nodded slightly at this. He recognized them both, having treated the woman for shingles and the man for haemorrhoids, yet neither of them seemed willing to mention that fact. More ungrateful morons._

 _"_ _But I also know that we are very lucky to have him here in the village, you know so do most of these people," Louisa continued. "So my point is… "_

 _Peters cut her off. "Thank you Miss Glasson. Dr. Ellingham, there is a recent initiative. A training course focusing on people skills."_

 _"_ _Oh_ God, _"_ _Martin muttered._

 _Peters ignored him. "It's two weeks, and it will teach you how to relate to your patients as people. Not just medical complaints. After that, I'll return to see how you've taken it on board."_

 _"_ _And what if I choose not to attend your initiative,_ Gavin _?"_

 _"_ _Well then, I'll recommend you be removed." Peters was at his most unctuous, oozing with feigned concern. "It really is down to you Dr. Ellingham."_

 _"_ _Right," Martin muttered. He took the bin bag and left._

Sadness. Pessimism. Helplessness. _Outside, he dumped the bag on the ground, strode up the hill and into the surgery. Pauline was spraying air freshener in the reception. He quickly retreated to his office and slammed the door._

 _He was so tense he began filing a metal cog on his clock project, anything to calm down, and he barely heard a knock at the door. He resisted the urge to tell whoever it was to bugger off. "Come!"_

 _It was Louisa. "Was that really necessary?"_

 _"_ _No, it wasn't." He meant the whole charade of this Peters bully having the power to ruin what was left of his career, but he knew that she meant his own behaviour._

 _"_ _You, you… you do realize how serious this is?"_

 _"_ _Yes, I do."_

 _"_ _Martin, they want to get rid of you. Don't you even care about that? Look, I know that you've never really fitted in around here and I know that you've never really tried and you're not interested in doing so, and I've always tried to understand that about you, because… because... well that's just you, that's what you're like. But I don't even think this is about that. I think that you deliberately wanted that review to go wrong, and I think that you want them to replace you and to send away from here. Well, Martin, you know, for what it's worth… I would like you to stay. So there."_

 _She wanted him to stay. He had only just managed to get back in her good graces over the erotomania misdiagnosis, only to drive her away again with his bluntness about her father's thieving ways. And still… she wanted him to stay. It was worth more to him than she could ever imagine._

 _Maybe all was not lost. At that moment, he knew he would do whatever it took to be able to stay. "Louisa…" he began._

 _That's when Jonathan barged in._

Martin's thoughts were interrupted by the mechanic knocking on the driver's side window. "Dr. Ellingham. Your car's ready."

 _To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Wenn Hall

Monday Morning

When surgery opened up for the day, Martin was feeling rather good. The Lexus looked like new again, the shaggy grey dog that usually hung about outside was nowhere to be seen, even the seagull that had plagued him over the weekend appeared to have departed. The odious duty he had agreed to perform was still a week away and his schedule for the day looked light so he would have a chance to catch up with paperwork.

In reception, there were no patients waiting yet. Pauline was at her desk reading a celebrity gossip magazine.

"You're supposed to be putting the patient files back in order," he said.

"All done," she said. "There was a call, you're wanted out at Wenn Hall."

"House calls are for emergencies only, you know that."

"Mrs. Wenn said it _was_ an emergency, sort of. They think it's something toxic in the house. Wenn Hall is open for tours two days a week, so it could be a public health matter."

"Well, I'm not going out that way. Got stuck in a bloody traffic jam caused by some film crew on the moor road on Saturday."

"Oh, the crew's not on the road now. That was the weekend schedule. Today they're actually set up at Wenn Hall. The grounds are large enough, there should be plenty of room to drive in and park."

"How do you know this?"

"The location shooting schedule is always posted at least a day ahead at the Village Hall so people can avoid the blocked roads. Mind you, some actually head for the filming on purpose."

"Whatever for?"

"To watch, of course!" she said. "To see Jago Powell and Wynnie Barlow in the flesh. He was voted _Hello Magazine_ 's Most Attractive Male last year. And she's just so glamorous, but they say her marriage to rock star hubby Carl Michaels is on a rough patch, _and_ rumour has it Jago Powell was the cause. I can't wait till they start filming down at the Platt, I want to get some autographs."

"Why people waste their time on this claptrap is beyond me. What's the nature of this supposed emergency?"

"Don't know. Something toxic, that's all she said. She sounded worried."

Grumbling to himself, Martin headed out.

At least he had the Lexus back and it was a lovely day for a drive. Martin had begun to enjoy driving in the open countryside lately, now that the problem of people trying to run him off the road had been solved. The two fishermen responsible had turned up at his door separately, one desperate to find the cause of his young daughter's urticaria and the other quite embarrassed by a bout of erectile dysfunction.

Once he addressed their complaints, the men were satisfied, even grateful for his help and their aggression toward him ceased. Martin could never understand why some people simply seemed to have it in for him. Aunt Joan had attempted to explain that the fact that he wore fine suits and drove a quality automobile didn't sit well with the largely working class residents of the village, but that made no sense to him. His clothing and mode of conveyance were a mark of his professionalism, if anything they should inspire confidence in his competence.

Martin knew where Wenn Hall was located but he had never actually seen it. It took 20 minutes to reach the entrance to the grounds but the house itself was not visible from the road. He drove up to a set of high wrought iron gates where he pressed a button and spoke his name into a microphone. The gates swung open wide to admit him to the long drive beyond.

The gate shut with a crash behind him, the drive twisting and turning ahead of him. It was scarcely wider in places than a path, flanked by a colonnade of trees, whose branches intermingled with one another above, making an archway like the roof of a church. The sunlight would not penetrate the interlacing of those green leaves, only little flickering patches of warm light occasionally dappled the drive with gold. It was very silent, very still. Even the quiet engine of the Lexus seemed muffled in this atmosphere. As the drive descended a gentle slope the trees came in closer, great beeches with lovely smooth white trunks, and other trees, trees he could not name, coming close, so close he could have touched them with his hand from the driver's window if he had wanted to. On he went, over a little stone bridge that spanned a narrow stream, and still the drive twisted and turned like a ribbon through the dark and silent woods, penetrating even deeper to the heart surely of the forest itself, and still there was no clearing, no space for a house.

The length of it began to nag at his nerves. Suddenly he saw the clearing ahead, and a patch of sky, and in a moment the dark trees had thinned and he drove into a corridor of crimson hedgerows, reaching high above the Lexus on either side. They were rhododendrons, a dense profusion of them. There was something bewildering, even shocking about the suddenness of their appearance. They were luscious and fantastic, unlike any variety of rhododendrons he had ever seen before, and he couldn't help but feel uneasy passing by those blood-red flowering walls.

The drive broadened, and he turned the last corner and so came to Wenn Hall. The great square Gothic stone house, flanked with tall towers at the corners, flew the Cornish flag from a mast on the roof. It was set in a hollow of smooth grassland and mossy lawns, the terraces sloping to the gardens, and the gardens to the sea. As he parked near the wide stone steps, there were a number of equipment vans already there and he could see through one of the mullioned windows that the front of the house was full of people. He went in the open front door. Inside the front parlour, people were pointing cameras and holding microphones and lights over a dark-haired man of about 35 and a very pretty and blonde younger woman, both of them in 1930s clothing. They were seated by a fireplace, with a pair of cocker spaniels crouched by the fire.

"How is it? All right? Do you think you'll like it?" said the man. He went over and leaned out the open window. A crew member holding a microphone on the end of a long boom silently moved to keep the mic just close enough to capture the actor's voice and just far away enough to stay out of sight of the camera. Martin paused to watch. Everyone around him seemed to hold their breath as the scene played out.

"I love the rose garden," the man continued. "There's something peaceful and happy about this room, and it's quiet too. You could never tell you were within five minutes of the sea in this room."

"That's what Mrs. Danvers said," the woman replied.

The man turned away from the window. "How did you get on with old Danvers?"

"She just seems a bit stiff. Perhaps she thought I was going to interfere with the running of the house."

"Don't mind her," the man said. "If she really makes herself a nuisance we'll get rid of her. But she's efficient, you know, and will take all housekeeping worries off your hands. I dare say she's a bit of a bully to the staff. She doesn't dare bully me though. I'd have given her the sack long ago if she had tried."

The young woman looked concerned and the man came over to kiss her on the top of her head.

"Let's forget about Mrs. Danvers," he said. "Come along, and let me show you something of Manderley."

The two placid cocker spaniels by the fireplace suddenly appeared to have spotted Martin. They leapt up with happy barks and ran over to him like he was a long lost friend.

 _"_ _Cut!"_ yelled a man, the same man from the moor road Saturday. He was still wearing a baseball cap, even though they were indoors. "Who are you?" he shouted at Martin. "Who said you could be on the set? Why are you interfering with the dogs?"

In the background, the man and woman who had been so loving when the cameras were rolling scowled at each other and turned away to consult their scripts.

Martin jumped back, grimacing. "I'm not interfering with your bloody dogs, keep them away from me! Someone here called me out on an emergency!"

As the director called for the dog wrangler to restore order, a tall, gaunt woman in her 60s, dressed in grey, appeared in the hallway. She had prominent cheekbones and great hollow eyes, giving the impression of a glaring skull. "You're the doctor," she stated, as a fact more than a question. "Follow me. Mr. Wenn is resting upstairs."

Martin followed her up the grand staircase, past the gallery lined with family portraits of generations past, and through a corridor to the master bedroom. Michael Wenn, a man of about 40, with thin, hawkish features, and greying at the temples, was propped up in an antique sleigh bed. A pale young woman sat anxiously by his side.

"Nice to finally meet you, Dr. Ellingham," Wenn said, taking off his reading glasses and setting aside what appeared to be a book about ancient Egypt. "I expect you know my brother Richard already, he lives in the village, chairman of the local yacht club. Dr. Sim was a member, has Richard invited you to join yet?"

"Yes. I declined." Impatient with the small talk, Martin dropped his medical bag onto the bedside table and took a seat. Michael Wenn, obviously the eldest son and heir of Portwenn's foremost family, seemed very different from his rather more aggressive brother. He struck Martin as an introvert, his watery grey eyes betraying a gentle befuddlement.

"Sorry to inconvenience you with a house call old chap, but I don't know what's going on," Wenn said.

"He started having severe stomach pains and a temperature of 39 overnight," said the young woman.

"Have you eaten anything unusual in the past 24 hours? Been abroad recently?" Martin asked. "Pain localized to the right side of the abdomen?"

"No, nothing unusual, and I had my appendix out as a boy," Wenn replied. "As a matter of fact we were travelling for while but we've been back several weeks now. I've had a rough night but I'm actually starting to feel a bit better. My wife worries though."

Martin took the man's temperature. "Well, the fever's well on its way down now. I'll need a stool sample for some lab tests. Can you manage it now?"

The patient nodded. Martin handed him a sterile container and waited as the man rose with a groan and headed for an en suite bathroom.

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I don't suppose you, um… know anything about dogs?" Mrs. Wenn asked, shyly.

Dogs again. Martin bristled. "I'm not a vet!"

"No, of course not," she responded. "It's just that… well, Bobby turned up dead this morning. My husband's favourite Springer spaniel, they were inseparable. Seems like an odd coincidence, Michael being sick and all."

There was a flush and a rush of water from a faucet, and in a moment Wenn was back with the now sealed container.

"I was just telling the doctor about Bobby," Mrs. Wenn said.

"Yes, 16 years old, which is a ripe old age for a Springer," Wenn said. "Still, he was healthy as a horse yesterday, bit of shock for him to just keel over without warning. Wondering if you could weigh in Doctor on what might have done him in, before we give him a proper burial in the garden."

"Don't be ridiculous," Martin retorted. "I'm not doing an autopsy on a dog. In any case it's dead now, even a vet couldn't do anything for it. You need to rest, drink plenty of clear fluids, and let me know if you have a relapse. Or better yet come see me in my office. I'll contact you when the test results come back."

Martin picked up his bag for departure, irritated that the unpleasant housekeeper insisted on showing him a way out that avoided the film crew. She said nothing but seemed to be examining him with dark, sombre eyes that contrasted with her cold, white face, and her whole appearance made him uncomfortable. He was relieved to be leaving Wenn Hall behind.

 _To be continued..._

Note: A temperature of 39 Celsius is about 102 Fahrenheit.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: New In The Village

Tuesday Midday

The next day, Martin was walking back from the post office at lunchtime when he spied the police vehicle parked beside the road, with a strange man slumped over the steering wheel. It was another mild summer day, the sun glittering off the harbour and gently warming the village streets. Still, it seemed like an odd place to be taking a nap, especially for a policeman on duty.

Martin figured P.C. Mark Mylow must have finished taking his solo honeymoon in Hawaii by now but rumour had it he had gone off to Poland to study plumbing. This new constable didn't look very promising.

"Hello? Hello!" Martin knocked on the vehicle window.

The man sat up, looking confused. "What are you doing?" His voice was slightly muffled behind the closed window.

"Trying to work out if you're dead."

"Well, I'm not. Thanks for asking."

"You looked unconscious."

"I was thinking," the man replied.

Martin was sceptical. "With your eyes shut and your head slumped over?"

"There's no law against that." The man was defensive. "And I'm a police offer, so I know that's true."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Martin held up three.

"What's it to you?"

"I'm a doctor."

The man looked interested. He rolled down the window. "Really. So you work round here?"

"Yeah, I'm the GP."

"So you know who's ill, who's faking, who's been stabbed or shot?"

What an odd question, Martin thought. "Yes. People come to me if they've been injured."

"Then I think we should have a talk."

"Of course we should have a talk." Martin was beginning to wonder about the man's mental state. "I just found you unconscious at the wheel of your police car. Come and see me today."

"Well, I'm not sure…"

"This afternoon," Martin insisted.

When he returned to the surgery, Pauline was in the kitchen and there was only one patient waiting in reception. It was the pale, anxious-looking young woman Martin had seen the day before at Wenn Hall. She was dressed in a plain but well tailored beige dress, but her shoulder-length hair was a slightly garish blonde at the ends, with a duller, more natural light brown hue growing out, and the fringe fell into her eyes, as if overdue for a trim. Her appearance gave the impression of an awkward girl who had not yet adjusted to her new role as the wife of a wealthy, older man.

She followed him into the office and introduced herself, saying "I'm new in the village and I thought I should register at the surgery."

Martin sat at his desk, took out the proper form, dated it, and wrote down her name.

"Everyone remarks on what an unusual and lovely name my parents gave me," she said expectantly. Martin grunted, intent on the form. "I'm impressed that you spelled it correctly," she added.

"Loveday Wenn. Seems straightforward enough," he replied.

"Yeah, I was born on Valentine's Day," she said, smiling. When that got no reaction from him, she added, "I was, um, wondering if the lab results have come back for my husband. I'm worried about him."

"Has there been any change in his condition?"

"No. Actually he's really improved since you saw him. He's, like, almost back to his old self."

"The lab results won't be back for several days," Martin said. "Why exactly are you concerned?"

"Well, Bobby the dog for one thing," she said. "It's strange that he just suddenly died at the same time my husband starting feeling rough. And it's, uh, the housekeeper. Mrs. Daniels. It's like she hates me. They say she was obsessed with my predecessor. You know, the first Mrs. Wenn."

"The one who perished in the boating accident last year."

"Yeah, that's her. Rachel. Mrs. Daniels is always talking about how _beautiful_ and _brilliant_ and _talented_ Rachel was, how well she ran the estate." Mrs. Wenn took on a sing-song tone to imitate the dreadful housekeeper, and then rolled her eyes. "I'm guess I'm not exactly filling her shoes yet. Mrs. Daniels is constantly reminding me of that. She's like a bully, you know? I wish Michael would just get rid of her but she's like this old family servant that's been with them for years and of course he isn't intimidated by her at all."

Bit melodramatic, Martin thought. He was annoyed that this young woman was wasting his time but she did seem rather sad and confused. He found himself pitying her.

"The housekeeper does seem odd, but you mustn't let her get to you," he said. "You have to stand up to people like that. In any case, the, er… dog was old, and I understand you and your husband recently returned from abroad."

"Yeah, that's right. We met in London last spring and we got married a few weeks later. What you call a whirlwind romance. I know people are talking about me behind my back, calling me a gold digger and such, but you have to understand Dr. Ellingham, I really love him and I think, I _hope_ , he feels the same about me."

Martin was uncomfortable about her sharing her personal life so he moved the subject back on track. "Yes, but you travelled for several months I understand," he said.

"We went all around Europe and even into Turkey and Egypt. Before we met he was in South America for a bit. You see, he just needed a change after Rachel died."

"Mm, that could easily explain his abdominal pains. People often pick up parasites whilst visiting underdeveloped countries for an extended period. The lab results will show if there's anything seriously amiss. I'll call you as soon as they come in. In the meantime Mrs. Wenn," he stood up to signal the interview was at an end, "why don't you fill out the form out there and hand it to my receptionist when you're done."

 _To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Marinara and Gossip

Wednesday Midday

Pauline flipped through the latest issue of _Practice Nurse_. She used to eagerly look forward to each new monthly issue, but now she couldn't concentrate on anything in the magazine. Her thoughts were occupied by a certain lanky, blue-eyed plumber.

She was reconsidering his offer to move in with him. He really was so sweet in his fumbling attempts to woo her, to persuade her not to leave Portwenn. He had actually managed to boil up some pasta, heat up some marinara sauce from a jar, and set up a halfway decent table, with candles and wine and all, at the ramshackle house he shared with his dad.

As she remarked at the time, how much romance could one girl take?

Then he sprang the little black box on her, the kind of box that all too often held an engagement ring, and her heart had skipped a beat - from fear more than anything else. The thought of getting married, getting pregnant, getting fat, and getting old, in that order, and above all the thought of never leaving Portwenn, had been terrifying.

Still, the key was a sweet gesture and she had been willing to keep the romantic evening alive, suggesting they go out to watch the sunset and the stars together. However, discovering that he had deliberately sabotaged her plan to go to university by breaking his promise to post the application she had worked so hard on was unforgivable.

Her mind drifted back to That Day, a little over a week ago.

 _As she walked up Roscarrock Hill to work, thinking she never wanted to see Al again, there he was on the stone terrace, waiting there for her with a bouquet of flowers._

 _"_ _Morning," he said. So casual – as if nothing had happened! – she thought._

 _"_ _I have nothing to say to you," she retorted._

 _"_ _Well, maybe I've got something to say to you, eh? I'm really sorry about the application. I passed the post box, I honestly, I just…" He was trying to get his pathetic explanation out quickly as she slammed the door on him and he finished with a yelp "Agh!"_

 _She opened the door a crack. "Got your fingers, didn't I."_

 _"_ _Yeah, maybe I should come and see the Doc." It felt so good to slam the door on him she did it again._

 _Surgery wasn't open to patients that morning and she was too agitated to sit and do paperwork, so she began to tell the Doc everything between her and Al, dogging his footsteps as he went about tidying his office._

 _"_ _So last night he only goes and asks me to move in with me…" she was saying._

 _"_ _What?" The Doc was obviously not paying attention. He really was a terrible listener, she thought._

 _"_ _Al! He thought he could blindside me with marinara, didn't he._ And _he went right past the post box." Pauline reconsidered the Doc's poor listening skills. He did seem very nervous today, not like himself at all. "Sorry, sorry," she said. "I know you've got your review panel."_

 _"_ _Yes, of course, I know. I'm on my way there now."_

 _"_ _It's not like he could miss a post box, is it. It's big and red," she went on._

 _"_ _Pauline, I'll be back in an hour." He headed out the front door._

 _"_ _Yes, sorry, yes. Good luck."_

 _She still couldn't settle down so she went into the kitchen and made herself a cuppa. Then out to reception where she straightened up and did some dusting, something she normally insisted was not in her job description, but she needed to keep busy. She was spraying a bit of air freshener when the Doc burst back in the front door._

 _"_ _How'd it go?" He stalked into his office without a word and slammed the door. "Went well, then," she murmured to herself._

 _A moment later, Miss Glasson came through the door, without a word. She knocked on his office and went in._

 _Pauline put down the air freshener and put her ear to the door to hear their muffled conversation._

 _"_ _You, you… you do realize how serious this is."_

 _"_ _Yes, I do."_

 _"_ _Martin, they want to get rid of you. Don't you even care about that? Look I know that you've never really fitted in around here and I know that you've never really tried and you're not interested in doing so, and I've always tried to understand that about you, because… because... well that's just you, that's what you're like. But I don't even think this is about that. I think that you deliberately wanted that review to go wrong, and I think that you want them to replace you and to send away from here. Well, Martin, you know, for what it's worth… I would like you to stay. So there."_

 _There was a pause._

 _Pauline wasn't proud of the fact that she was eavesdropping, or that it wasn't the first time she had done so. If she was being honest with herself, she would admit that gossip was a kind of currency in the little village. If you had something juicy to share – like, say, what was going on between a certain head teacher and a certain cantankerous doctor – it got you attention from people who otherwise ignored you as part of the all-too-familiar landscape. And then people shared whatever they had with you, so you knew what was what in the tiny community. That's just how things were – everyone knew that._

 _But Pauline reasoned that Dr. Ellingham was such an odd duck it was often impossible to tell what going on with him without a little listening in now and again. If he was leaving Portwenn she could well be out of a job and she wanted to know about it._

 _She held her breath to hear his reply._

 _"_ _Louisa… "_

 _That's when Jonathan barged in…_

"Pauline!" Dr. Ellingham barked from his office. "Call the Wenns. Tell them I have the fax with the lab results and they should come in as soon as possible to discuss them."

 _To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

_Reading over the recent comments, I realized DMLG Softy is absolutely right that the Doc wouldn't discuss the test results with the patient's wife without the patient present, so I revised this chapter and posted it again._

Chapter 7: Kicked in the Head

Wednesday Midday

The fax machine hummed and spit out a sheet of paper. Martin picked it up and scanned it.

"Pauline! Call the Wenns. Tell them I have the fax with the lab results and they should come in as soon as possible to discuss them."

He sat at his desk and was about to take a closer look at the lab report when a man walked into the office unannounced.

"Hello?"the man said.

Martin was annoyed. He had never liked people barging in on him but lately it got on his nerves more than usual. "Why don't you knock?"

"Not my style," said the man.

"Take a seat." Martin sat at his desk. The visitor sat opposite and promptly nodded off. Martin studied him. It was the same man he had seen asleep at the wheel in the police vehicle the day before. Dark hair, heavy eyebrows, seemingly fit, with a rather Mediterranean look to him, possibly Spanish, but he spoke with a Cornish accent.

The man abruptly woke up and went on as if nothing had happened. "We didn't do the formalities before. Police Constable Joseph Penhale."

"Dr. Ellingham."

"MD, BS, FRCS. I saw that on the plaque outside."

"Mm. Very observant."

"Gotta be on my game," the man said. "Especially now I'm the new neighbourhood beat manager."

"Right."

"Sorry if we got off to a bad start. Obviously, with you being the local medic, want to make sure we have a relationship that's, uh, _mutually beneficial_. If you get my drift," he said, insinuatingly.

"I don't. What d'you mean?"

He nodded off again. "Hello?" Martin said.

The man's brown eyes snapped open and he answered automatically. "Hello?" He certainly seemed out of it, Martin thought.

"Are you going to answer my question?" Martin asked.

"What question?"

"Do you often get very tired?"

"I'm on the job 24/7."

"You were asleep in your car. You ever fallen asleep when you're talking or eating?"

"No," the man replied, then reconsidered. "Well, now and then when I'm eating. When I'm speaking sometimes."

"If you laugh or get angry, ever feel like the muscles in your neck can't support your head?"

"It's happened once or twice. Thought it might be whiplash."

"No. No, it's something else. Narcolepsy. Neurological disorder. Marked by a sudden uncontrollable compulsion to sleep. You should have come to see me right away."

"Been busy moving my things from Bude to my new flat above the Portwenn police station."

"Mm. Before it started happening did you suffer any kind of head injury?"

"Why?"

"Cranial traumas can set off this kind of condition. Perhaps you fell over, or crashed your car."

"Kicked in the head?"

Of course, Martin thought. "That'll do it."

"It was a couple of years ago," the man recalled. "I was trying to nick this farmer near Bude. Some mix up with his TV license. He wouldn't come quietly. So I started putting the cuffs on. He runs out into the yard. I chase after him. Trip up. Fall under his horse. When I wake up, paramedic tells me he kicked me in the head. The horse, not the paramedic. I'm covered in blood. Wife started complaining after that. Saying I was acting rude."

"Why? What did you do?"

"Nothing. She kept banging on about my mood swings… and me forgetting everything… and my mood swings. We're not together any more."

No surprise there, Martin thought. "I can give you something to keep you awake." He wrote out a prescription and handed it over. "And until you start the course of treatment you're not to drive. Is that clear?"

The man started to protest as Martin escorted him out and closed the door. He could hear the policeman go into the reception area and talk to Pauline.

Martin sat at his desk again and studied the lab report. He began to frown.

There was a knock at the door. "Come!" He was surprised to see it was Mrs. Wenn without her husband. She looked even more distressed and nervous than when he first saw her.

"You got here very quickly," he said. "Pauline must have just called your house."

"My husband had to go to Plymouth on business. I happened to be in the village doing some shopping and I thought I would stop by. Does that mean you have the lab results? Michael is better now but we're really anxious to hear the results. So tell me. Does he have a parasite?"

"No, that's a bit of good news, no sign of infection or parasite."

"So it doesn't tell us anything then?"

"Not quite. However, I need to discuss the results in person with him."

"Oh." She seemed surprised, then leaned in as if to confide something. "Dr. Ellingham, I'm worried."

"About what? You said your husband appears to be recovering. Just have him come in to see me when he gets back from Plymouth."

She sighed, unsure how to explain. "I think Mrs. Daniels, that's our housekeeper I was telling you about yesterday, you must have seen her at the house… I think she resents me, or has a grudge against my husband for marrying me. I'm really worried now, because I can't help wondering if Michael might have been… _poisoned_."

Martin could hear the policeman still talking with Pauline out in the reception. He got up and opened the door to get his attention. "P.C. Penzance!"

"That's P.C. Penhale, Doc, _Penhale!_ Like the place west of Bodmin, not the place with the pirates."

"Er, yes… Penhale. Come in, you might want to hear this."

He introduced Mrs. Wenn and quickly explained the situation to Penhale. The policeman's face lit up. "Attempted murder! And on my first week here! The boys at my old patch in Bude will be jealous when they hear about this."

"It's likely no more than an accidental ingestion of a hazardous substance but if Mrs. Wenn has suspicions I thought it's potentially a police matter now," Martin said.

"Quite right, Doc. I'll get right on it. Gonna need your help."

"If a crime has been committed on private property it's up to the police to investigate," Martin replied.

Pauline, who was listening to the entire conversation, said "You need to go over and help with the investigation, Doc. Wenn Hall is open to the public, the house and grounds both, two days a week. And you've got the whole film crew over there lots of days now. If there's a haz-mat situation it's your duty to root it out. It's a matter of public health."

"Well, that and you said I'm not to drive until I start my course of treatment," Penhale said. "I'll need a ride over there."

 _To be continued…_

Note: Penhale is an actual village west southwest of Bodmin. Penzance is of course the home of the pirates in _The Pirates of Penzance_.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Lab Results

Wednesday Midday

Martin drove the Lexus along the twisting, turning driveway through the dark and silent woods, down the gentle slope, and over the little bridge. He was impatient at having to make the drive again, especially since today the film crew were set up at the high iron gates where the driveway turned off the moor road. Once again he had to wait for a scene to end before he could be waved through. Still, he was mildly intrigued by the poisoning case, whether it was accidental or not.

He followed Mrs. Wenn's Range Rover as the close ranked trees gave way to the blood-red rhododendrons, and the great stone house came into view.

"There it is," said an impressed Penhale, sitting in the passenger seat. "Stately Wenn Manor!"

"Wenn Hall actually," replied Martin, as he parked the Lexus beside the Range Rover in the forecourt.

Mrs. Wenn led the way into the house and they were met in the spacious front hall by her husband. "Oh Michael, you're home," she said. "I didn't expect you so soon." She seemed flustered, Martin noted.

"Finished early in Plymouth, my dear. Just beat you home by about two minutes. Parked in the garage," Wenn said. "Just checked the answer phone messages, Dr. Ellingham, I understand you have my lab results. I didn't expect you to deliver them in person."

"I just happened to stop by the surgery today," Mrs. Wenn said. "The doctor said he needed to talk to you about it, so we decided maybe it was best if he had a look around."

Mr. Wenn looked confused. "Well, is it good news or bad, doctor? Just spill it."

He and Martin sat on a sofa in the front parlour where the film crew had been the other day. Mrs. Wenn hovered nearby. Martin took the folded up fax paper from his jacket pocket and handed it over. "You seem to have ingested a toxic cardiac glycoside known as oleandrin. It comes from the nerium oleander shrub. It's a common ornamental plant, but potentially deadly if eaten. Do you have any idea how that might have happened? Do you have the nerium oleander shrub on the grounds here?"

At that moment, Penhale, who had been gawking at the outside of the manor house wandered in, to Martin's annoyance. "Do you have any known enemies that might want to do you harm?" he chimed in.

"Sorry, what are you talking about?" Mr. Wenn demanded. "Doctor, who is this man?"

"P.C. Joseph Penhale on the case," Penhale replied.

"The police are involved now?" Mr. Wenn said.

"Your wife seems to think there might be something suspicious behind it," Penhale said.

"I don't know, maybe it was all just an accident," said Mrs. Wenn.

"Mr. Wenn, I need to determine if there is oleander growing on your property!" Martin barked. "If you were somehow exposed to it, it might be a general health threat to members of the public who tour your house and grounds, and… er, any others who might be here."

"Well, I don't know the names of all the plants," Mr. Wenn said. "The landscaper is here today in the back garden. He'll know."

He led them out back, where he found the landscaper Mr. Simmons pulling up weeds around the rose bushes. "You're looking for oleander?" the old man said. "Just look around you, it's all oleander right there." He pointed the trowel in his hand to a row of white flowering shrubs that formed a wall of privacy behind a paved area with a small gazebo and a large granite statue of a sphinx. The shrubs gave off an appealing tropical fruity scent.

"That's the deadly poisonous plant?" Mr. Wenn said sceptically. "Those have been there since I was a boy. Smell delightful and never done any harm to anyone. It's not like my dog Bobby or I chewed the flowers or anything."

"Do members of the public come into contact with these plants when you have tours?" Martin asked.

"We don't let the tourists chew the flowers either," Mr. Wenn joked. "But no, the tours don't come back here. This is a private area. I like to have my tea out here in the gazebo most days, spring through autumn, whatever the weather. Speaking of which, care to join us?"

The strange housekeeper had appeared at the French doors with a wheeled cart set with teapot, cups, and a covered dish. "The cook Mrs. Philpotts made fresh scones this morning," she announced.

"Er, I've got to get back to the surgery soon…" Martin started to say, when Penhale interrupted with, "well as long as you're sitting down to it anyway, I do have some follow up questions for the case."

Martin checked his mobile impatiently. No signal. "We're in a bit of a dead spot out here," Mr. Wenn said, observing him. "You have to go up to the upper floors to get a strong signal, or walk up one of the hills on the estate. It's a nuisance but we mostly just rely on the landline."

Mr. Wenn uncovered the dish, which contained the scones, plus butter, jam, and a small tub of clotted cream. Martin sat down with the others but scowled at the unhealthy treats.

"So, any known enemies? Anybody you've had a dispute with? Gambling problems? Do you owe money to any shady characters that you can't pay back?" Penhale inquired, helping himself to a scone and flipping open his notebook.

"Of course not! My family has been here for generations. As long as there's been a Portwenn, there's been Wenns here. We're well known and respected throughout the area," Mr. Wenn replied.

Penhale made some notes. "Any family members who might profit from your untimely demise? Word on the street is you have a brother in town with a failing boat business. Is he the male heir next in line to inherit the ancestral estate?"

"The estate isn't entailed. This isn't Downton Abbey! If something happened to me it would all go to my lovely wife."

"Well yeah, but…" Mrs. Wenn spoke tentatively. "Um, I shouldn't even bring it up."

"Go on," Penhale urged. "You never know what might prove relevant to an investigation." He loaded up the scone with jam and cream and took a big bite.

"It's just that… Rachel, the first Mrs. Wenn, her body wasn't found and she was never legally declared dead. It's only been a year since she disappeared, innit - I mean, you see."

"Why bring that up?" Her husband was dismissive. "Of course she's dead. Her sailboat went down in a big storm."

"I just, you see we were married abroad and Michael never mentioned the legal issue. I only found out when we got here, you know how people like to gossip. And I sometimes think, well, maybe we're not married at all, not really, and people shouldn't even call me Mrs. Wenn!"

She seemed distraught but Martin detected beneath her tears a touch of… something. Annoyance? he wondered.

There was an awkward pause. From the corner of his eye, Martin could see the housekeeper peering at them from the French doors, maybe listening. "Er, Penhale here needs to get to the chemist's for his prescription."

"It can wait, Doc," Penhale said, reaching for another scone.

"Well, I've really got to get back to the surgery. Call me if the symptoms recur," Martin said, rising and walking away. Penhale put a quick dab of butter on the scone and stuffed it into his mouth as he followed.

As they got in the Lexus and prepared to drive away, Penhale remarked "We're quite a team, Doc. A regular Sherlock Holmes and Doc Watson."

"Hm." This constable was a moron, Martin thought.

"You've even got some first hand crime fighting experience," Penhale continued. "I heard about the _incident_ at the surgery."

"What are you talking about?" Martin asked, with a sinking feeling he knew exactly what the constable was talking about.

"Theft of rare bird's eggs. International explosives smuggling operation. Conspiracy to commit bank robbery."

"Hm. You must have read the police report."

"Skimmed it. Those reports are always so dry." Penhale sounded as petulant as a child demanding a better bedtime story. "In law enforcement we have to stick to the facts and all, but it must have been exciting. Crazed nutter in a hostage situation. One Irishman, name of Jonathan Crozier, with a zed."

 _To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9: On the Edge

"That Day"

Sadness. Pessimism. Helplessness _._

 _He remembered Louisa's pleading eyes as she told him, "Well, Martin, you know, for what it's worth… I would like you to stay. So there."_

 _That's when Jonathan barged in, dragging Pauline in with him. He was very agitated, demanding Louisa's attention, right when Martin most needed to talk to her._

 _The man clearly had not been taking his medication, exhibiting classic signs of bipolar disorder in its full on-manic phase:_ Irritability. Grandiosity. Narcissism _._

 _"_ _I know what's going on here," he said. "I know you're all just waiting for me to leave town, I know that. And I know that there is somebody else that's behind of all this, so just I need you to just call your dad for me please. Because I really need to talk to him. You see, you don't understand. If, if, if… you need to call him, and then he'll come back, otherwise he… if you could give him a quick tinkle."_

 _Louisa nervously backed away as Jonathan advanced on her with his mobile phone. Martin challenged him to leave but man exploded. He pulled out a knife and grabbed Louisa as she cried out. Fear stabbed at Martin's heart._

 _She rang the number. "Daddy, uh your friend's here… um, um, he's not in a very good mood and he'd like you to come back here… and he's got a knife." She sounded very scared._

 _Psychiatry was never Martin's strength, he found it too hard to fathom the illogical workings of other people's minds. So he tried to imagine how his Aunt Ruth would handle this situation._

 _"_ _All right, Jonathan," he began, trying to placate the man while not betraying his own nervousness. "I want you to take a few deep breaths, and give me the knife. Then I want you to sit down, so that I can sedate you and call the police."_

 _So that last part… probably not what Ruth would say. Jonathan put the knife to Louisa's neck and ordered Pauline, who was ridiculously cooperative, to help him tie them up. She did so, ineptly but effectively. Pauline even played along with his paranoia, claiming she could hear the electronic static he believed was plaguing him._

 _Once tied to the chair, Martin felt strangely calm, passive… helpless. "Mr. Crozier… why don't you stop and consider the consequences." Jonathan's fiddling with items on Martin's desk was becoming irritating. "Put that clock down!"_

 _"_ _I, I don't want anybody to worry, but I think they've got in here too." Jonathan sounded genuinely worried._

 _"_ _They'll call the hostage negotiator in soon," Pauline murmured. What hostage negotiator? The stupid girl was delusional too, Martin thought. No one knew what was going on in here, the cavalry was not coming._

 _Jonathan wandered into the reception area, apparently in search of the source of the static plaguing him._

 _"_ _He's getting worse, isn't he. Much, much worse," Louisa whispered, very tense. "Martin, I'm just so sorry."_

 _Martin nodded, equally tense. A crash in the reception made them both jump. "You break it you pay for it!" Martin yelled._

 _"_ _Martin, stop annoying the man with the_ knife, _" Louisa pleaded._

 _Jonathan came back into the office, muttering to himself: "Don't trust Terry, don't trust Terry, he's nothing but a liar."_

 _"_ _He seems to be having a moment of clarity," Martin commented._

 _"_ _You're talking about my father, actually." Louisa seemed genuinely hurt. "Um, why would you want him to come back here?"_

 _"_ _Why? The boat, the shipment… that's none of your business, OK?"_

 _"_ _What boat?" Martin asked._

 _"_ _Who told you about the boat? Did Terry tell you, did Terry tell you about the boat? I told you, you can't trust him. You can't trust him." Jonathan was gesturing with the knife, but got distracted as the fax machine began humming_

 _"_ _This is really interesting, see, what goes on in the mind of a mental. I'm thinkin' about becoming a psychiatric nurse, you'd meet all sorts," Pauline commented._

 _"_ _Shut up," Martin snapped. The girl was just as detached from reality as the mental patient._

 _Jonathan studied the fax. "Cam-pee-lo-bacter."_

 _"_ _Campylobacter," Martin corrected him._

 _"_ _This is code."_

 _"_ _No it isn't. It's a strain of bacteria."_

 _"_ _Don't you think it's a bit convenient, this comes in right now?"_

 _"_ _I'm a doctor. I tend to get faxes about medical things."_

 _"_ _This is about_ me _," Jonathan insisted. Of course, Martin thought, the delusional always think everything is about them._

 _"_ _What does it say?" Jonathan demanded. He held the fax for Martin to read, but put the knife to Martin's throat._

 _"_ _A local baker has a bacterial infection associated with raw chicken and bird faeces. I don't see your name here anywhere."_

 _Jonathan waved the knife in Martin's face. "You're a liar. I know you're lyin'." He put the knife to Martin's throat. "I want you to tell me what's really goin' on here."_

 _From the front door came a voice. "Hello? Hello?" That was all they needed, the unctuous, platitudinizing eunuch._

 _"_ _Go on, get rid of him," Jonathan ordered Martin._

 _"_ _You don't think he might find it suspicious that I'm strapped to a chair."_

 _"_ _Oh right." Jonathan seemed genuinely oblivious to anyone's plight but his own. He untied Martin._

 _"_ _Um, with a patient! Out in a minute," Martin shouted. He felt a flood of relief to be free again, tempered by guilt that Louisa was still a prisoner. He closed the door behind him as he went out into reception. He uttered words he never thought he would say. "Ah, Mr. Peters. How nice to see you again."_

 _"_ _Look, Ellingham. You forced my hand. I'm going to recommend your removal."_

 _"_ _Fine. Fine. Um, you'll send me the relevant papers then and I'll be off."_

 _"_ _This could have been avoided if you'd agree to the course."_

 _"_ _I'd love to go on the course." Martin was that desperate._

 _"_ _Really?" Peters seemed sceptical._

 _"_ _Yeah. Yeah, uh absolutely, count me in." Martin put his arm around the odious man to usher him out._

 _"_ _Well, I'll sign you up then," Peters said._

 _"_ _I'm your man."_

 _"_ _It's two weeks, you know. People skills."_

 _"_ _Sounds super." Martin wasn't sure if he was being cooperative to signal to Peters that something was very, very wrong or simply to get rid of him._

 _"_ _I will be checking your attendance," Peters said, suspiciously._

 _"_ _Thank you." Martin opened the front door._

 _"_ _Well, thank you."_

 _"_ _No, thank_ you _."_

 _The stupid man finally left. Jonathan came out from where he was lurking beside the stairs, ordering Martin to lock the front door. They went back to the office, where Jonathan gestured for him to sit. Martin couldn't bear the thought of being tied up again. So, what would Ruth do in this situation? Reason with the man, try to gain his trust._

 _"_ _All right, uh, Jonathan, let's put the knife down." Martin knew it was up to him to be the hero but he had no idea how to fill that role. "Things seem muddled for you now but… uh, you're amongst friends." He lunged at Jonathan but only succeeded in ineffectually tossing a lamp at him._

 _Oh God, he was hopeless as an action man. Resigned, Martin sat down. Jonathan went to tie his ankles. The deluded man suddenly seemed concerned, but naturally only about himself._

 _"_ _I keep gettin' these headaches and they're burnin' into me right there," he confessed. "I got them checked out but it didn't show anything."_

 _"_ _Headaches or migraine? I read an article last year about the correlation of migraines and, uh, bipolar disorder."_

 _"_ _Yeah, migraines, headaches, I don't know the difference. All I know it really, really hurts."_

 _"_ _With migraine you get blurred vision and nausea, and sensitivity to light."_

 _Being reasonable just made Jonathan impatient. "Yeah, but is it caused by radio waves being beamed into my head?"_

 _Martin suddenly realized Louisa and Pauline were signalling to him that Jonathan had put down his knife. It was now or never. Martin lunged, but his legs were held fast. As they fell together, Jonathan grabbed the knife and pulled back to plunge the blade into him. In the space of a heartbeat, Martin braced himself for the pain… for the end._

 _And then Terry barged in._

 _Startled, Jonathan wheeled and plunged the blade into Terry's flesh instead. On the floor, Martin cringed as if he_ had _been stabbed, then went limp with relief. Spared!_

 _Terry groaned in pain at the knife in his arm and Jonathan instantly went from madness to apologies. "I didn't, uh, I didn't do that. They… they made me do that." Jonathan went to pull the knife out._

 _"_ _Don't do that!" Martin commanded. "You'll sever an artery."_

 _"_ _It really hurts!" Terry gasped._

 _"_ _You'll bleed to death."_

 _"_ _I'm the worst friend ever," Jonathan whinged. "Just, um… fix him! Fix him! OK?"_

 _"_ _I'm tied to a chair!"_

 _Jonathan bent to free him. Martin went over to Terry, relieved to be free again and able to revert to what he knew best. He hushed Terry, carefully pulled the knife out, and laid gauze on the wound._

 _"_ _Good, good. It hasn't severed the artery." Even more than the blood, the enormity of what had almost happened overcame him, and he was suddenly sick in the waste bin._

 _"_ _You all right there, Doc?" asked Terry, much calmer._

 _"_ _I'm fine, hold that." Martin let him press on the gauze._

 _"_ _Can I have the knife?" Jonathan asked, as nonchalantly as if he were asking for a pen._

 _"_ _No, you can't!" As Martin continued to tend to Terry, he became aware that Louisa was distraught for her father. None of them noticed until it was too late that Jonathan went to the cupboard and found the shotgun._

 _"_ _Martin!" Louisa called out, as the madman checked that the gun was loaded._

 _"_ _Put that down!" Terry demanded. Jonathan refused, so Terry turned his disapproval to Martin. "Why do you leaving guns lying about? What's the matter with you?"_

 _"_ _How did you get in? The front door's locked," Jonathan demanded._

 _"_ _I came in through the kitchen," Terry replied._

 _"_ _Oh. Well, that makes more sense. OK, 12, 12… we need to get to the boat at 12."_

 _"_ _You're on your own," Terry insisted._

 _"_ _Um… We need to go and get the package."_

 _"_ _Jonathan. I'm not goin' anywhere." With his bandaged arm, Terry was simply stating the obvious._

 _Jonathan thought for a moment. "OK, all right. I'll go. Yeah, I'll go and you need to tell me where to get the boat, and then I'll go down there."_

 _Martin had a glimmer of hope the madman would finally leave but then Jonathan reconsidered. "Then I'll be out there and you'll be here and you'll just call the police. OK, we need to get someone else to go and get the boat. You won't do it, so um… you!" He pointed at Martin. "You can do it. You're goin'."_

 _"_ _I can't work a boat."_

 _"_ _He's from London," Pauline helpfully commented._

 _Jonathan proceeded to bicker with the others about who could get the boat when there came at knock at the front door. A slightly tipsy Al could be heard and he wasn't going away._

 _"_ _Pauline! I know you're in there. I just want to talk!" More knocking. "I don't care how long I gotta wait, you're gonna have to talk to me."_

 _Jonathan went to the door and marched a startled Al back to the office at gunpoint. "What's goin' on?" the plumber asked._

 _"_ _I know,_ you _can go," Jonathan said._

 _"_ _Go where?"_

 _"_ _You need to get a boat and pick something up at 12."_

 _"_ _I can't get a boat, I'm just a plumber."_

 _"_ _Al, Mr. Crozier is suffering a psychotic breakdown," Martin said._

 _"_ _What does that mean?"_

 _"_ _It means he's mad. Just do as he says."_

 _"_ _Either you do it," Jonathan said, "or I make a colander out of Reception Chickie." Clearly the madman had picked up on Al's interest in Pauline._

 _"_ _What's a colander?" Al asked, still bewildered by what he had walked into._

 _"_ _It's a type of sieve, Al," Martin replied._

 _"_ _It's bigger than a sieve," Pauline weighed in._

 _Martin was putting a sling on Terry's arm as Jonathan began to gesture wildly with the shotgun._

 **Bang!** _It went off, whether by accident or on purpose Martin couldn't tell, but it blasted the clock off the desk. Louisa shrieked._

 _"_ _Uh, me Dad's got a boat," Al conceded._

 _Pauline finally grasped the gravity of the situation. "I want to go home," she whimpered. Al moved behind her protectively and patted her on the shoulder._

 _Jonathan directed Terry to explain the plot. "Three miles up the coast. Nelson's Point, do you know it?" Terry said._

 _"_ _Yeah."_

 _"_ _A Spanish trawler about 'alf a mile from Nelson's Point. Tell them 'Terry sent me.' Say 'Terry mi mando a por el paquete.' Say it."_

 _Somehow that triggered an argument about the correct phrasing of the Spanish words. This is descending into farce, Martin thought._

 _Jonathan got angry. "Seriously! Tick tock! Tick tock, tick tock!"_

 _Al departed and Jonathan planted himself in a corner, gun on his lap, to wait._

 _"_ _He'll be all right, won't he." Pauline was concerned._

 _"_ _Course, he will," Terry assured her, but he hesitated before he said it._

 _An eternity of waiting. Martin felt for Louisa as she shifted uncomfortably, still tied up._

 _"_ _What is all this about, Dad?" she asked, finally._

 _"_ _Jonathan, will you_ please _take a couple of your pills!" Terry seemed to want to avoid the subject._

 _"_ _What's in the package?" Louisa insisted._

 _"_ _Drugs," Pauline guessed._

 _"_ _Oh Dad!" Louisa was dismayed._

 _Jonathan smirked. "You wouldn't wanna be puttin' any of this stuff up your nose."_

 _"_ _It isn't drugs," Terry said._

 _"_ _It's explosives," Jonathan admitted._

 _"_ _Oh, that's_ much _better." Martin couldn't stop his normal sarcasm from showing through._

 _"_ _We're bank robbers." Jonathan seemed giddy at the prospect._

 _"_ _It isn't a bank," Terry said. "It's a warehouse."_

 _"_ _It has a safe in it."_

 _"_ _Doesn't make it a bank."_

 _"_ _Wait," Pauline was really dismayed. "You sent Al to pick up explosives?"_

 _Martin's desk phone rang. Jonathan answered it. "You got the package?" Pause. "Pauline is fine. Pauline's great," Jonathan said, then mouthed to the others "who's Pauline?"_

 _"_ _Al, careful with the package!" Pauline shouted._

 _"_ _OK, bring it back here," Jonathan said. "No, no, no, you need to bring it back here. Now." Al seemed to be arguing with him._

 _"_ _Al, for God's sake bring the bloody package!" Pauline shouted again._

 _Jonathan listened some more. "All right." He looked at Martin and held the phone toward him. "It's for you. No funny stuff. OK? No code! All right, hold on. He said someone's fallen off a cliff."_

 _"_ _And?" Martin demanded._

 _"_ _He says 'and," Jonathan said into the phone._

 _"_ _He can hear me," Martin said, leaning into the phone. "Al?"_

 _"_ _I think he's hurt badly, Doc. I can't see him moving," Al said._

 _"_ _Call the Coast Guard."_

 _"_ _No Coast Guard," Terry warned. "No Coast Guard!" Jonathan repeated, then to Terry, "Why not?"_

 _"_ _They'll see the explosives," Terry whispered. He raised his voice. "The Doc can go down there." Jonathan seemed reluctant, but Terry insisted. "The doctor can treat his patient. We can get a hold of the package."_

 _"_ _Um, OK. Plumber Boy?" Jonathan said into the phone. "We're coming there. All right everybody, come on, we're leaving now." He shouted at the women. "I said we're leaving, come on are you deaf?"_

 _Somehow the madman had forgotten that Louisa and Pauline were still tied up. "Oh," he said, as if it were a simple oversight. He freed them._

 _The five of them went out the door and piled into the Lexus, with Martin in the driver's seat._

 _oOo_

"You saved the day," Penhale was saying, as they drove home from Wenn Manor. "You must feel like a hero."

It was like the ridiculous constable was describing some other person, Martin thought. He seriously didn't want to talk about this.

"Er… it wasn't conspiracy to commit bank robbery, it was conspiracy to commit warehouse robbery," Martin replied. "Really, there's nothing to tell. It's all in the police report. I have nothing to say about it."

 _To be continued…_


	10. Chapter 10

_I'll be taking a short break from posting new chapters because we're heading out on a road trip from New York_ _to South Carolina_ _to see the solar eclipse here in the U.S.A. In the meantime, I looove to get reviews so please be kind and say what's on your mind. Stella D._

Chapter 10: Opportunity Knocks

Thursday

Pauline walked up Roscarrock Hill to work the next morning. The rubbish bin was set out for pickup on the stone terrace but it had been knocked over and a bag torn open, potato and carrot peelings scattered about. He won't be pleased about that, she thought.

She went in the front door, went to her desk, and started up the computer. "Doc," she called out. "Bit of a mess out front."

He strode out from his office. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone or something has got into your rubbish. Remains of last night's supper spread all over. "

They went out to the terrace. "That damn dog must have done it," the Doc snapped.

"Don't think so. I've never seen him mess with the bin before. Besides, he hasn't been around lately," Pauline replied.

As she spoke, a dark shape swooped down, grabbed a fish head, and soared away. "There's your culprit," she said.

"Disgusting bird. It's been hanging about for days now. Someone should shoot it."

"You can't do that, they're a protected species. Anyway, I imagine you wouldn't like having guns about, after… _you know_."

The Doc grunted and the scowl on his face deepened. "How do I get rid of it, then?"

"Wooden owl," Pauline replied. "You set it up on the roof or on a pole. The gulls think it's real, scares them away."

The Doc looked sceptical. He took some latex gloves from his pocket, pulled them on, and began to clean up the rubbish.

"Bert has one. I'll borrow it at lunchtime, I'm sure he won't mind," Pauline said. "Come on, you've got a full schedule this morning. Here comes my Mum now, wanting to see you about her lumbago."

The reception filled up quickly. Mum complained she had trouble getting here to see the Doc, what with the film crew blocking the way in the Platt this morning.

"Did you see Wynnie Barlow?" asked Pauline.

"Not a sign of her," Mum replied.

"My Jeff said he saw her standing by the bus stop," said Mrs. Poustie.

"Wynnie Barlow? At a bus stop? She hasn't used public transport since her sex tape went viral," said Mrs. Montrose.

"That wasn't Wynnie Barlow, she never had a sex tape," Pauline said.

"And that Jago Powell, I heard he was here visiting last year and got stopped for drink driving along the cliff road," Mrs. Montrose continued. "Now he's a pretty boy actor, he thinks the rules don't apply to him."

"The charge was dropped. The breathalyser test proved he wasn't drinking. Jago Powell has been on the wagon for five years now." Pauline patiently continued refuting the elderly woman. "Isn't it great, this filming. Just what the village needed."

"Yeah. Load of namby pambies putting on makeup and slowing up the traffic, that's certainly the missing piece in the jigsaw of our lives," retorted Mum.

"I could have been an actress," Pauline sighed.

"Well, you're certainly needy and insecure enough to be one, yeah. If only you had the looks," Mum said.

"Now Dawn, no need for that," said Mrs. Poustie. "Pauline, you look lovely. Any film would be lucky to have you."

"Well, they might want to have you. They've got casting people coming into the Village Hall on Saturday, looking for extras," said Mrs. Montrose. "They need people who look authentic Cornish to fill out the background in crowd scenes. No experience necessary."

"Go on, where did you hear that?" Pauline was intrigued.

"It's posted at the Village Hall. Show up with a photo of yourself, 10 o'clock in the morning."

"Pauline!" The Doc poked his head into the room. "I've been calling for the next patient. Pay attention!"

"Oh uh, right, Doc, here's her notes. Go on in, Mrs. Poustie."

oOo

Pauline knocked at the Large house. The door was ajar, so she pushed it and leaned in. "Bert, you there?"

"Come on in, girl, I'm just about to heat up leftovers of my homemade shepherd's pie. Al will be along in a second."

"I came to borrow your fake owl, the Doc has a gull problem. But I'd love some shepherd's pie. Bert, you are quite the cook."

"The ladies love a man who's handy in the kitchen," said Bert. "I keep tellin' Al that, but the poor boy is hopeless around a cooker."

Bert dug the owl out of a closet and set it on the table where it glared at them as they sat down for lunch. Just then Al came in through the door. "Pauline, didn't expect you here today," he said, clearly glad to see her. "Sorry I'm late, I went out to Gaverne Farm to replace their pipes and I couldn't get the van back through the village. The roads are backed up today with the filmin'. Had to park up the hill and walk home." He wasn't too pleased about that.

"Did you see the movie people?" Pauline was excited. "I heard they're auditioning extras down at the Village Hall Saturday morning."

"You don't say," Bert was intrigued. "I reckon they'll be lookin' for honest Cornish faces, not those Hollywood pretty people with their faces full of Botox. This could be the start of something big. There's plenty of movies and shows that film in Cornwall. They'll all be needin' local faces."

"And you don't even need any experience," Pauline chimed in.

"I've got some time as a thespian under my belt," Bert said. "I played Falstaff in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ back in school, and that was the lead role. So I'm a step ahead of them as has no experience at all."

"Bert, you'd be a natural," Pauline said.

"And you Pauline are a natural beauty. The camera will love you," Bert replied. "That settles it. Saturday mornin' we're headin' down there to try our luck." He struck a dramatic pose. "Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift."

"Er, Dad?"

"Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the leer of invitation."

"Dad?"

"I can construe the action of her familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be Englished rightly, is, 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'"

" _Dad!_ We got jobs we need to take care of Saturday," Al pointed out. "We're replacin' the drain trap for Pat Anselm, emptyin' the septic tank at Bray Farm, and you never finished fixin' Joan Norton's upstairs toilet, she's been complainin' about that."

"Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud, boy," Bert said. "Opportunity's knockin' at the door. I have complete confidence in your ability to handle everythin' while your old man and your girlfriend answer it."

 _To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Birds and Gossip

Friday

In the morning, Martin stepped out to the stone terrace and found the wooden owl toppled from the rooftop perch where he had fastened it. It was covered with bird excrement. He stared at it in disgust as Pauline walked up the hill to start her work day.

"Never seen a bird do something like that before," she remarked, in awe. "Looks like Gullzilla is marking your house as his territory, Doc."

Martin snorted in derision. "Any other brilliant ideas to get rid of it?"

"I heard they don't like the colour red. You could splash paint around here, or hang up some of your old ties."

"Hm! I'm off to make a house call." Martin strode off to put his medical bag in the Lexus as Pauline got out the hose to rinse off the fake owl.

He drove to the outskirts of the village and parked at a small cottage set on a steep hillside, mildly surprised to see Aunt Joan's pick-up truck already there. "Hello?" he called, pushing the front door open. "Mrs. Potter?"

He found the two elderly women in the kitchen enjoying some tea and biscuits. "Morning, Auntie Joan. Mrs. Potter. How is your metatarsal fracture?"

"It aches when I put any weight on it," Mrs. Potter said, as he bent to examine her foot.

"Hm. Still swollen. You've been keeping it elevated? Well, you should stay off it as much as possible another three weeks. Remember to use a cane if you must move around. Aunt Joan, how is your ankle coming along?"

"It's fine Marty, feeling better since I last saw you."

"I appreciate you coming out to see me, Dr. Ellingham," said Mrs. Potter. "Heard anything from Louisa lately?"

"Er, not yet. She said she'll call me when she's coming back."

Mrs. Potter nodded and reached up to tuck some stray hairs back into her grey bun. "You'll stay for a cuppa?"

Martin grunted his affirmative. He sat at the table as Mrs. Potter poured him a cup but he waved away her offer of biscuits. "I, um… understand you're knowledgeable about birds?"

"Isabelle is a recognized expert on English bird life," Aunt Joan said, as the lady in question nodded with pride. "We're very lucky to have her here in the village."

"Ornithology happens to be my avocation," Mrs. Potter said. "Birds are marvellous creatures. They bring beauty into the world."

"It's just that I have… um, something of a problem with a gull. It's decided it lives at my house. Damn nuisance."

"Oh, Marty," Aunt Joan said. "You're a grown man. Can't you figure out how to handle how to handle a mere bird?"

"It's a very aggressive bird," Martin protested.

"Yes, they can be," Mrs. Potter agreed. "They can snatch ice creams out of the hands of tourists on the Platt and they've been known to draw blood." Her gravely voice took on a lecturing tone. "It's likely a herring gull, species _Larus Argentatus_ , known as a _goelann_ in Cornish, very common in these parts. You're lucky it's not nesting season. In any case, you mustn't harm it, they're a protected species."

"Hm. So I've been told. My receptionist put a false owl on display. Didn't work."

"The herring gull is too intelligent to fall for that. You can always hire a falcon," she said.

"What?"

"There's a falconer lives over in Delabole. You can hire him to deploy a raptor in your garden to scare the gull away. I believe he has a peregrine falcon and several other species of raptors. I don't imagine it would be cheap to get him though and bringing in a raptor isn't always effective."

"I've got a vicious bird squatting in my garden, I'm not going to pay for another vicious bird to move in as well!" Martin was growing impatient with the old woman's droning. "What else is effective?"

"Having a dog about could scare it away, not that you'd agree to that. Or you could put spikes on the roof, anywhere a gull might perch," Aunt Joan suggested. "Really, it's not difficult to figure out, Marty."

"Yes, and put some shiny, reflective tape up there too," Mrs. Potter said. "Confuses the birds about where they can land safely."

Martin grunted and sipped his tea. "Erm, I'll consider it. Do either of you know anything about… um, the Wenns?"

"Marty, it's not like you to show an interest in local gossip, is it," Aunt Joan said. "Does this have anything to do with Michael Wenn being poisoned?"

"You know I can't discuss that. It's patient confidentiality. I'm just curious about the… er, previous Mrs. Wenn."

"Just curious, eh?" Joan obviously didn't buy that. "Well, the previous Mrs. Wenn was Rachel Brading, from Port Gaverne originally. Lovely lady, a real Cornish beauty, and a champion rider as well. She was Lady Susan's cousin. When she married into the Wenn family a few years ago everyone thought it was a brilliant match."

"They used to give wonderful parties over at Wenn Hall when she was the lady of the house," Mrs. Potter said. "She let me lead bird watching tours on the grounds. Once we saw a nesting pair of desert wheatears there, _Oenanthe deserti_ , quite rare in these parts. It was very exciting."

"So what happened to her?" Martin was eager to stop Mrs. Potter from going off on a tangent about birds again.

"For some reason she decided to go sailing alone at night, and a sudden squall blew in," Aunt Joan said. "Her boat must have sank somewhere out there, but no trace of it was ever found. Surprising, because she was an excellent sailor."

Mrs. Potter nodded. "That was just about a year ago. A real tragedy."

"Well, Michael Wenn was supposedly devastated. He went abroad for months, not a word from him, then suddenly he reappears just a fortnight ago with this new, much younger wife," said Aunt Joan.

"I hear she's quite a disappointment. She's got nothing on Rachel," Mrs. Potter added.

"So this Rachel was never declared dead," Martin said.

"No, that's what so odd about him remarrying so soon," Aunt Joan said. "No body was found, and not nearly enough time had passed for her to be legally declared dead. But he kept insisting he knew in his heart she was gone."

"And…er, one other thing. I know you do a bit of gardening Aunt Joan, and Mrs. Potter you're knowledgeable about nature… I was wondering if either of you were familiar with oleander."

"What about it?" Joan was very curious herself now.

"Have you ever heard of anyone ingesting it, possibly in some misguided attempt at a natural remedy, like people still sometimes do with belladonna?"

"All I know is the birds have enough sense to not eat it," said Mrs. Potter.

"I've never heard of that," Aunt Joan said. "You probably know more about that than we would. Perhaps you should seek out someone who knows about folk remedies."

"There's Old Andy that lives out on the moor. People sometimes go to him for herbal teas and remedies. Bit of an eccentric, makes art works out of scrap metal, tinkers with bikes and such too," said Mrs. Potter.

"Don't you remember, it's been over a year since Andy passed on," Aunt Joan reminded her. "There's always Sally Tishell. Chemists are often familiar with alternative remedies and she would know if anyone in the village had requested them."

"Such a shame about Rachel Wenn," Mrs. Potter mused. "She sometimes came with us on our birding walks. We saw a grey penduline tit once, very unusual in these parts. Of course I don't get out much any more. It broke my heart that I missed seeing the choughs that were nesting on the cliffs recently. That's a real Cornish bird, the chough, species _Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax_ , but sadly rare here now due to loss of its specialized habitat. Col. Spencer told me they flew back to western Germany so I never got to see them."

Martin looked up in surprise at her comment. Aunt Joan caught his eye behind Mrs. Potter's back, frowned, and shook her head. "I should be off now," she said, picking up her cane. "Marty, do you think you could help me outside?"

"Er, yes." Martin was eager to be going himself now.

They bid goodbye and went outside to their vehicles. "Mrs. Potter is unaware of, um, what happened to the choughs?" Martin asked.

"The Colonel thought it best if she didn't find out. She only knows what visitors tell her, and we've all agreed there's no need to upset her at her age," Aunt Joan said. "So you're intrigued by the local goings-on after all, with the Wenns I mean."

"Well, it's a medical mystery, that's the extent of my interest." Privately Martin had to admit to himself, it was a good way to take his mind off other things in his life.

 _To be continued…_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Dogged

Saturday Morning

Martin tentatively stepped out onto the stone terrace, with a cup of espresso in hand. He glanced around nervously, then allowed himself to relax slightly and took a sip. It had been days since he had been able to enjoy the serenity of his morning coffee with a view of the harbour.

After his visit with Mrs. Potter and Aunt Joan the day before, he gone out to purchase the bird spikes and reflective tape and then installed both along the edges of the roof. However, by evening it appeared the gull had learnt to perch avoiding the spikes and was busily pulling up the tape with its beak.

So far this morning appeared to be safe. No gull in sight. There was only the morning light golden on the village rooftops and on the sand at the Platt, and the sound of the waves as they broke upon the rocks and the sea wall. There was a salty brightness in the air and the water sparkled in the harbour.

Then came a yip, and the shaggy grey dog bounded up to greet him, seemingly out of nowhere. Martin had the urge to… well, not exactly _kick_ the beast so much as firmly nudge it away with his foot, but then it occurred to him – the dreaded gull had shown up during the dog's absence and now that the dog had returned the bird seemed nowhere to be found. Perhaps Aunt Joan was right. Keeping a dog about was the best remedy. He looked the dog over. It seemed well fed, its coat looked glossy and adequately groomed. Other than its recent bout with zoonosis, it appeared healthy enough. Despite its lack of collar and tags, _someone_ in the area must be looking after it. Perhaps if he had Pauline put a bowl of something out for it, whatever it was that dogs liked, it might be trained to come around daily, say for an hour in the morning, just long enough to keep any gulls at bay. He would have to ask Pauline for suggestions on how to get it leave once its guard shift was over.

The dog sat there, looking up at him with eager brown eyes and twitching tail, like it was just waiting to be told what to do. For the first time, Martin was beginning to think perhaps dogs did have their uses after all.

Out of the clear blue sky, a dark shadow swooped down and came at both Martin and the dog with a vicious scream and outstretched claws. In a panic, Martin burst through the front door to safety. The dog yelped and managed to squeeze in with him before Martin slammed the door shut. The dog looked up at him now with what seemed to be embarrassment at allowing itself to be bullied by a mere bird. Oh don't be ridiculous, Martin told himself, a dog doesn't feel anything of the sort.

Disgusted both with the dog, and with himself for anthropomorphizing it, he ushered the beast through the cottage and toward the kitchen door, then he noticed blood was oozing from a scratch on its neck. His hand on the door, he looked away and took a deep breath to control his rising nausea, then looked at the gash again. "Sit!" he ordered. "Wait here!"

He strode to his office, donned gloves, grabbed his medical bag, and returned. He probed the scratch, determined it was not deep enough for stitches, then trimmed a bit of fur and cleaned the area with antiseptic. Relieved that no one was around to see, he opened the kitchen door and pushed the dog out to fend for itself.

Martin went to the front door and peered out. No sign of "Gullzilla" nor anyone who might have witnessed its attack. He straightened up and stepped out with all the dignity he could muster.

As he strode down the hill into the centre of the village, a stiff breeze began to blow clouds in off the sea. The sunny start to the morning looked like it would give way to rain soon. The streets were empty, which suited him just fine. The chemist's looked empty too, but the Open sign was in the window. The bell rang as he pushed the door and Sally Tishell popped up from behind the counter.

"Oh _hello,_ Dr. Ellingham," she gushed, running her hands over her hair. "What can I do for you today?"

"Hm. You left a message that the antiseptic wipes were finally in."

"Yes, of course." She went to the back room and returned with the box. "And did the tolnaftate cream help with your athlete's foot?"

He grunted affirmatively.

"It's good you got here early today. I'm closing up the shop at 10 to go to the auditions at the Village Hall. Business has been almost non-existent this morning anyway, I expect everyone will be there. I wonder if you, Dr. Ellingham, had ever considered going for an audition yourself? You're so distinguished I would think you would be _magnetic_ on the silver screen."

"What? Don't be ridiculous."

"No, no, of course not," she quickly retreated. "You're a man of science, busy tending to the sick. You wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."

He added a few other items to his order and she put them all in a bag. "So," she returned to her studied, casual tone, "I don't suppose you are interested in the masked ball then?"

"The _what?_ "

"It's a fancy dress party the movie people are throwing on the Platt this Friday. It's posted at the Village Hall. Jago Powell is personally arranging it. Sort of a 'thank you' for the traffic inconvenience the filming has caused. Everyone wears a mask and shows up unaccompanied to guess at each other's identity." She took on a husky, almost seductive tone. "When everyone is a stranger, _unexpected_ things could happen. I was just curious if you might possibly… consider… attending?"

His stony expression was all the answer she needed.

"Not that I'm suggesting any sort of impropriety, mind you," she retreated again. "Would never do that, my Clive may be away on the rigs but I'd never give him any reason to doubt my fidelity. No, you're right, it's just another time-wasting frivolity." She quickly printed out a receipt and had him sign for the supplies on his office account. "Will that be all, Dr. Ellingham?"

Martin wondered if there really was such a person as Clive Tishell. Certainly, Mrs. Tishell seemed potentially delusional in general. How did she expect to go incognito at a masked ball when she refused to take off her signature neck collar? However, he decided she might be able to shed some light on the oleander issue.

"Hm. I wondered if…" he hesitated.

"Yes? How may I be of assistance, Dr. Ellingham?" She was practically taut with anticipation.

"Er, are you knowledgeable about herbal remedies or folk medicine? Specifically, any uses of oleander? Perhaps in the form of an herbal tea."

"Oleander? No. I have an oleander shrub in my back garden. Are you recommending it as a remedy?"

"Certainly not! It's a deadly poison!"

"Is it?" She looked alarmed. "Should I have it pulled out?"

"Don't be ridiculous, it's not going to jump up and attack you. Just don't make tea from it!"

"I would certainly never do that if you say not to, Dr. Ellingham."

He was nearly at his limit of tolerance for her nonsense.

"Anyway," she continued, "herbal folk remedies are just voodoo mumbo jumbo, as I'm sure you would agree, Doctor. Is there anything else?"

"Hm. I don't suppose you know anything about repelling aggressive herring gulls?"

"Well, I've always heard keeping a dog about the place will scare them away."

He scowled and left the shop.

 _To be continued…_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Mind of a Mental

"That Day"

Pauline was startled awake. For a moment she continued to feel the dream sensation that she was falling from a cliff, but as soon as she became fully conscious it faded instantly and she couldn't remember at all what the dream had been about. She lay in bed, feeling unsettled as the early light peeped in the window.

Not so long ago she had been sure she would be happy to never see Al Large again. Thanks to him she had missed the deadline for her application to university. She had also been fairly certain the Doc would soon be leaving Portwenn and she would be out of a job. So she was faced with no boyfriend, no job, and no prospects.

And then Jonathan barged in.

000

 _"_ _Can I help you?" she said._

 _"_ _No. Shh," he replied, clearly very agitated. He pushed past her and into the Doc's office, demanding to talk to Louisa. When he pulled out a knife Pauline ran for the door but he stopped her escape._

 _The Doc was angry but Pauline warned him not to antagonize the mental patient who had obviously gone off his meds._

 _Louisa called her father as the nutter wanted but it didn't seem to calm him down much. The Doc tried telling him to take a few deep breaths, hand over the knife, and sit down, but he spoiled it by adding he would sedate Jonathan and call the police._

 _You weren't supposed to say that last bit out loud, Pauline thought. She was dismayed by the whole situation but fascinated too. After all, how often did you get to observe a real life case study of a mental patient gone off his meds?_

 _So when Jonathan, rudely addressing her as Reception Chickie, told her to get some tying up stuff, she decided to cooperate with him and suggested surgical tape. When he claimed he was hearing electronic static in the air, she said she thought she could hear it too._

 _"_ _They'll call the hostage negotiator in soon," Pauline softly reassured the others, but she could see the situation was causing tension between Louisa and the Doc._

 _Jonathan was gesturing with the knife and obsessing about something-or-other when the fax machine started buzzing. He was convinced the fax about the baker's bacterial infection was really secret code about_ him _._

 _"_ _This is really interesting, see, what goes on in the mind of a mental," Pauline said to Louisa. "I'm thinking about becoming a psychiatric nurse, you'd meet all sorts."_

 _Jonathan was getting alarming, waving the knife in the Doc's face, accusing him of lying. Pauline was really starting to get nervous. Maybe the hostage negotiators weren't about to be called in._

 _Then a voice came from the front door. "Hello? Hello? Hello?" Pauline recognized it as Mr. Peters, the unctuous man who had made the Doc go to the review panel. Jonathan freed up the Doc to go out and get rid of him, following behind to spy on them._

 _Pauline relaxed for a moment, as much as she could in the circumstances. Louisa still seemed tense, very tense. "I… I'm so sorry," she murmured to Pauline. "Martin was right, my father is nothing but a criminal. It's all my fault for putting my faith in him. I've put Martin in danger, and you too. All of us."_

 _"_ _Don't worry," Pauline reassured her in a low voice. "The Doc's free now, he'll get a message to Mr. Peters or something."_

 _They could hear the Doc and Peters talking, but they couldn't make out any words. Then the door closed. "Lock it, lock it. Go on," Jonathan said._

 _They came back in the office. The Doc will do something now, Pauline thought._

 _"_ _All right, uh, Jonathan, let's put the knife down," the Doc said, trying to sound reasonable. "Things seem muddled for you now but… uh, you're amongst friends." He lunged at Jonathan and tossed a lamp which the nutter easily avoided. Pauline's heart sank at the pathetic attempt._

 _"_ _OK, I'll sit down," the Doc said, subdued._

 _"_ _I think that would be a good idea," Louisa murmured._

 _Jonathan went to tie the Doc's ankles, and began complaining about getting headaches. The Doc went into clinical mode, attempting to diagnose his symptoms. Meanwhile Pauline noticed Jonathan had put down the knife. It was obvious Louisa had noticed it too. They began to frantically signal behind Jonathan's back. The Doc caught on and once again lunged at Jonathan._

"Hit him!" _Pauline yelled._

 _But the Doc's legs were held fast and he tumbled over, Jonathan grabbed the knife and pulled back to stab. Pauline gasped._

 _And then Terry Glasson barged in. "Jonathan!"_

 _Startled, the nutter wheeled around and stabbed him instead. Jonathan was instantly apologetic, blaming anyone but himself, as the Doc warned him not to pull the knife out._

 _"_ _I'm the worst friend ever," Jonathan whinged. "Just um… fix him! Fix him! OK?"_

 _He untied the Doc, who went into clinical mode again, treating the bloody wound, taking just a moment to be sick into the bin._

 _Deprived of his knife, Jonathan went rummaging in the cupboard and came out with a shotgun. Pauline was shocked to see the gun, it wasn't the sort of thing the Doc normally kept in his office._

 _Back in control, Jonathan began plotting, something about having to get to a boat at 12 to retrieve a package. Terry being wounded, the nutter considered going himself. Pauline's hopes were raised only to be dashed when Jonathan realized the flaw in that plan._

 _"_ _Then I'll be out there and you'll be here and you'll just call the police," he said. "OK, we need to get someone else to go and get the boat. You won't do it, so um… you!" He pointed to the Doc._

 _"_ _I can't work a boat," the Doc protested._

 _"_ _He's from London," Pauline explained._

 _"_ _Can I just point out that you're automatically assuming that a woman isn't up to the job?" Louisa offered._

 _"_ _Fine. You do it."_

 _"_ _I'm… probably not strong enough," she conceded. Pauline thought she and Louisa working together could be up to the job but she was too nervous to say it._

 _And there came a knocking at the front door and a slightly tipsy voice. "Pauline!"_

 _Al Large. The man she never wanted to see again. She was never so happy to hear someone in her life._

 _"_ _I know you're in there. Pauline! I know you're in there, I just want to talk!" He continued knocking. "I don't care how long I gotta wait, you're gonna have to talk to me!"_

 _Jonathan greeted him at the door and marched him into the office at gunpoint. What a sight it must have been for him, Pauline thought, the place in disarray, she and Louisa tied up, and the Doc bandaging Terry Glasson's arm._

 _"_ _What's goin' on?" was Al's only comment._

 _"_ _I know._ You _can go," said Jonathan._

 _"_ _Go where?"_

 _"_ _You need to get a boat and pick something up at 12."_

 _"_ _I can't get a boat, I'm just a plumber," Al protested._

 _"_ _Al, Mr. Crozier is suffering a psychotic breakdown," the Doc informed him._

 _"_ _What does that mean?"_

 _"_ _It means he's mad. Just do as he says."_

 _"_ _Either you do it," Jonathan warned, "or I make a colander out of Reception Chickie." Pauline realized the nutter had clearly picked up on Al's interest in her._

 _"_ _What's a colander?"_

 _"_ _It's a type of sieve, Al," the Doc explained._

 _"_ _It's bigger than a sieve," Pauline just had to contribute._

 _Jonathan was gesturing with the gun and it wasn't clear to Pauline if what happened next was a accident or intentional but it made the nutter's point very clear: He blasted the clock on the desk, with a shocking_ _ **BANG!**_ _and clanging gears. Pauline felt like she was going to be sick._

 _"_ _Me dad's got a boat," Al admitted._

 _Pauline couldn't hold back any longer. "I want to go home." Al moved behind her protectively and patted her on the shoulder._

 _"_ _OK, tell them," Jonathan ordered._

 _Terry explained that the boat was a Spanish trawler that would be three miles up the coast and a half mile off Nelson's Point. "Tell them 'Terry sent me.' Say 'Terry mi mando a por el paquete.'"_

 _He made Al repeat the phrase. Pauline repeated it to herself, trying to help him any way she could, but it soon degenerated into bickering over the correct Spanish grammar._

 _That only made Jonathan angry. "Seriously! Tick tock! Tick tock, tick tock!"_

 _Al departed. "He'll be all right, won't he," Pauline said anxiously._

 _"_ _Course, he will," said Terry, but he hesitated before saying it._

 _Jonathan sat in a corner with the gun on his lap and they waited. And waited._

 _"_ _What's all this about, Dad?" Louisa finally said._

 _"_ _Jonathan, will you_ please _take a couple of your pills!" Terry said. Obviously he didn't want to answer her._

 _"_ _What's in the package?!" she insisted._

 _"_ _Drugs." Pauline felt certain._

 _Jonathan smirked. "You wouldn't wanna be puttin' any of this stuff up your nose."_

 _"_ _It isn't drugs," Terry said._

 _"_ _It's explosives," Jonathan said. "We're bank robbers." He seemed excited at the prospect._

 _"_ _It isn't a bank, it's a warehouse," Terry said._

 _"_ _It has a safe in it."_

 _"_ _Doesn't make it a bank."_

 _"_ _Wait." It was just beginning to sink in for Pauline. "You sent Al to pick up explosives?!"_

 _The phone rang. "Surgery," Jonathan answered it. "You got the package?" Pause. "Pauline is fine. Pauline's great." He mouthed to the others, "who's Pauline?"_

 _"_ _Al, careful with the package!" Pauline shouted._

 _"_ _OK, bring it back here," Jonathan said. "No, no, no, you need to bring it back here, now."_

 _Could dear, sweet, stubborn Al actually be arguing with the nutter? "Al, for God's sake bring the bloody package!" Pauline yelled._

 _Jonathan shushed her and listened to the phone. "All right." He turned to the Doc. "It's for you. No wait. No funny stuff, OK? No code! All right, hold on. He said someone's fallen off a cliff."_

 _"_ _And?" the Doc said._

 _"_ _He says 'and?'" Jonathan said into the phone._

 _"_ _He can hear me," the Doc said. "Al?" He listened. "Call the Coast Guard."_

 _"_ _No Coast Guard!" said Terry._

 _"_ _No Coast Guard!" Jonathan repeated into the phone, then turned to Terry. "Why not?"_

 _"_ _They'll see the explosives," Terry whispered. "The Doc can go down there." Terry looked reluctant. "The_ doctor _can treat his patient," Terry insisted. "We can get a hold of the package."_

 _"_ _Um, OK. Plumber Boy? We're coming there," Jonathan told Al, and rang off. "All right everybody," he announced to the room. "Come on, we're leaving. We're leaving now. I_ said _we're leaving!_ Come on, are you deaf!"

 _Pauline and Louisa glared at his obliviousness to their predicament, which he was responsible for._

 _"_ _Oh!" he said, almost apologetically. He set them free, and everyone went outside to pile into the Doc's car._

000

The alarm clock went off and Pauline swatted it to silence the buzzer. Cheer up, it's gonna be a great day, she told herself as she got up and headed to the bathroom to get ready.

 _To be continued…_


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Casting Call

Saturday Morning

Pauline lifted the bacon out of the pan and onto a plate, then set the potato cakes in to fry as the kettle began to whistle. "Mum, I don't know how you can eat all this."

"I suppose you'd rather get by on yoghurt and muesli or some such rabbit food," her mother replied. "I need a good fry up in the morning. They run me ragged on my feet at the supermarket, I don't sit behind a desk all day staring at a computer. Not that you're even going to work today. Why are you all dressed up?"

Pauline was wearing her brown dress with the daisy pattern and a plain beige jacket over it. She considered it her most business-like outfit since the flowers were daintier than the bold patterns she usually favoured. She originally bought it thinking she would wear it to her university interview, but since there would be no university interview she figured she might as well get some use out of it.

"The casting call, Mum, don't you remember?" Pauline poured the tea and turned back to the potato cakes. "It could be a good thing, this movie. A chance to try something new. I've got a two week holiday from the surgery coming up so I could make some extra money. And who knows what it could lead to?"

Mum looked up from the morning paper to open a large envelope Pauline had put on the table. She opened it and studied the photo inside. "Is this the picture you're bringing?"

"It's from Uncle Bruce's wedding. They said to bring a head shot – a portrait photo that shows you 'as you currently appear and reflecting your best qualities.'"

Her mother eyed the photo critically. "You never did look good in pictures. Not like your brother. He could have been a male model. And he played Mungojerrie when the Portwenn Players put on _Cats_. Maybe he should be the one auditioning for movies. Too bad he's off with the Army Reserve.

"What's wrong with my photo? Elaine said my hair looked great that day."

"Elaine, what does she know about hairstyles, with those ridiculous pink braids," Mum sniffed. "Still, at least Elaine got herself out of her Dad's house, going off to Pompey to be with her boyfriend. Bruce says she's got a good job with the DVLA, not swanning off to movie auditions."

"Dad would be excited for me getting in a movie," Pauline muttered, more to herself than to her mother.

"You're not in any movie yet. Don't count your chickens, girl. And your father doesn't give a toss about what you get up to here. He's too busy with his new family up north, innit."

Pauline scooped the potato cakes out of the pan and onto a plate, then slammed the spatula on the counter. She sliced some hog's pudding, pulling a face as she did so. She never liked the greasy sausage but Mum always insisted on it for breakfast.

Mum went back to scanning the newspaper. "All right, I reckon this audition is a good thing if it gets you out from moping around the house, moaning about how that nutter held you hostage and you missed the deadline for university and Al let you down and all."

"I've forgiven Al. He was bereft at the thought of me leaving and he had a momentary lapse of judgement. And if he hadn't come on the scene when Jonathan was in the surgery… I don't know… I don't know what could have happened."

"It's a wonder Doc Martin even keeps you on now, after you let that mental case into his office to cause trouble."

Pauline was just about to scoop the hog's pudding out of the pan when she threw down the spatula in disgust. "I don't even like cooking and you don't appreciate it when I do it. Fry up your own breakfast. And what happened at the surgery _wasn't my fault!_ "

She grabbed the envelope with her photo and ran out the door, pulling it shut behind her with a satisfying slam.

Don't let her get to you, don't let her get to you, she repeated to herself as she walked along Fore Street. No tension. You need to look calm and relaxed for the audition.

She went over to the Large house and knocked. Bert answered the door, wearing a white dress shirt and blue-and-green striped tie that had seen better days, incongruously paired with his usual wool hat. He gave her a big smile. At least someone was happy to see her, she thought. She smiled for the first time that day.

"Have you had breakfast yet, my love? I've got some lovely quiche lorraine, with tomatoes and mushrooms on the side. Sit down, I'll make you up a plate."

She sat as he poured her a cup of tea. "You're such a good cook, Bert."

"Had to fend for myself and Al these many years since our Mary's been gone. No reason you can't eat well while you're livin' the bachelor life." He served them both and joined her at the table.

Pauline tucked in. "Too bad Al hasn't inherited your culinary skills. You should open your own restaurant."

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind," Bert said, between mouthfuls.

"So Al is out already?"

"Up at the crack of dawn. You know what all work and no play did to Jack." He shook his head, chuckling. "Is that your photo you're bringin'?" He took it out of the envelope and smiled some more. "You're a looker all right, Pauline. Those movie people'd be crazy not to cast you."

Pauline was feeling better already. "Al doesn't appreciate you Bert, you're a great Dad."

"I do my best." They finished breakfast and he put the dishes in the sink. "Come on, we'll worry about these later. We don't want to be late." He slipped on a tattered suit jacket, whipped off his wool cap and ran his fingers through his sparse hair.

Bert grabbed a cardboard folder with his photo from the counter and they headed out the door. They walked together over the cobbled streets, Bert keeping a surprisingly spry pace for such a heavy man.

As they neared the Village Hall, dark clouds were moving in from the sea. There was already a long line of people waiting outside even though they were still 15 minutes early. They joined the queue right behind Lorna Gillet, who was dressed in her usual shorts, flowered top, flip flops, and handmade seashell necklace and earrings.

"You're awfully casual, Lorna." Pauline said. "You look like you just came from beachcombing. Don't you want to make a good impression on the movie people?"

"It's not like we're applying to be secretaries here," Lorna replied. "I'm an old hand at this movie extra business. I been in lots of stuff with on location filming all over Cornwall - _World War Z_ , the TV version of _Frenchman's Creek_ , and a blink-and-you-miss-me part in the original _Poldark_ , that was back when I was a girl. I was in an episode of _Wild West_ , and I got to stand next to Catherine Tate on set all afternoon for that one. They even gave me a couple of lines when I was in _Saving Grace_ , but my scene ended up on the cutting room floor. Still got paid though. It helps supplement my handicraft business, when the opportunity comes along."

"So what's your secret?"

"They're always looking for people that just _look_ Cornish. And I'm as Cornish as they come. I just blend right into the scenery, don't I."

"I'm pretty Cornish looking, I reckon," Pauline said.

"Me too," Bert chimed in. "Well, my Dad was from Swindon, but you'd never know by the looks of me."

"Of course, sometimes a casting director will surprise ya, pick someone you never would have thought in a million years," Lorna said.

The doors opened and the line began to move forward, not a moment too soon. Everyone crowded into the hall at once as a light rain began to fall outside.

"Hello everyone, thank you for coming out today to our casting call." A tall woman in designer jeans and tailored black jacket addressed the crowd. "I'm Tamsin Todd, the casting director. As you know, we're looking for background talent for our film _Rebecca_. There are over 200 of you here today and we're only looking for about 25 people, both males and females, various ages and looks. This isn't a 'cast of thousands' type of production, so don't worry if you're not chosen, it's nothing personal. Please have your head shots ready. My assistant Jim will be doing a quick review of everyone, and if we're interested we'll call you up here for a second look."

Jim started to go down the line looking at each person and talking a little with most of them. Every fourth or fifth person got sent up to the hall's small stage, where Tamsin was sitting at a small table. She looked at their photos and chatted some more with them.

The process was slow, and with so many people packed into the un-air conditioned community room the atmosphere became uncomfortably hot and close. The crowd grew restless.

"Half these people here aren't even from Portwenn. Locals should get priority," someone grumbled.

"Has anyone seen the script?" Lorna asked.

"Do they actually write it down, do they," someone else said. "I figured they started out with the story in their heads and said whatever popped out."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sally Tishell, who was a few places ahead of Pauline. "Each character has a writer who makes up what they say. The writers talk to each other. That's called 'dialogue,'" she stated authoritatively.

"What happened to the ladies' loo? The toilet's all clogged," said a woman, getting back to the place in the queue her friend saved for her.

Half the crowd, the half that was local, turned toward Bert. "Large and Son are the only plumbers in town," someone said.

"Don't look at me," Bert said. "A plumber's entitled to a day off now and again, you know."

"We've called the parish council about the toilets, they're sending someone over," Jim said. He continued to move down the line. When he came to Lorna, they talked for a moment and he sent her over to his boss.

Then he came to Bert. "Ever done any acting?" Jim said.

"I was the Portwenn Player's Falstaff." Bert struck a dramatic pose. "Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about thrift…"

"Mr., er, Large," Jim said, glancing at the name on the back of Bert's photo. "We're not looking for that sort of…"

"I know you only need bit players," Bert interrupted. "They say there's no small parts only small actors, so I'm here to tell you Large's the name and Large is how I'll play it, no matter how small the part."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Sorry." Jim handed back Bert's photo and moved on.

Pauline was next and she was ready. She saw how Bert had overplayed his hand and that was not going to happen to her. She ran one hand over her ginger hair and drew herself up with all the poise and grace she could muster, envelope with her photo clutched under one arm in a casual yet business-like pose. This was her moment.

Jim glanced at her and gave a polite nod. He moved on without a word.

Pauline was devastated.

The door to the community room opened and a young man dripping in wet mac and overalls walked up to Jim, who looked him up and down. "Did you bring a head shot?" Jim asked.

"A what? The parish council called me. Toilet needs unclogging."

"Hmmm, well you can get to that in a minute. Never mind the head shot for now, I think my boss might want a look at you." With that, the assistant casting director sent Al Large up to the stage.

 _To be continued…_

Notes:

Pompey: Nickname for Portsmouth (not Pompeii, which it sounds like).

DVLA: Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency, U.K. version of the DMV in the U.S., with the same reputation for poor customer service.

Hog's pudding: A sort of Cornish haggis.

Mac: A macintosh or raincoat.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Dreaded Obligation

Monday Morning

It was a 40 minute drive from Portwenn to Newquay. It had taken Martin another 10 minutes to locate the campus of the further education college, park at the farthest end of the car park, then locate the proper building, and then the classroom. He was still 20 minutes early.

The classroom was mostly empty, with a woman setting up her papers on the lectern in front. She was a short and slightly stout, perhaps age 40, with greying hair that looked like she cut it herself. She wore a long paisley patterned skirt, a hand knitted-looking cardigan and dangly earrings paired with a wooden necklace. She had written on the white board "Mastering Effective Interpersonal Skills: A Further Education Initiative for Business and Health Care Professionals," with her name underneath "Vanessa Stevenson, Ph.D."

 _Dread. Pessimism. Procrastination._

Punctuality was a rule with Martin, but he couldn't bring himself to go in just yet. He went outside and took a walk all the way out to his car and then around a bit, before going back inside. The classroom was now full but he lingered in the corridor with his mobile phone, telling himself he needed to check his messages at the surgery.

He could hear a very enthusiastic female voice begin to address the class.

"Welcome to Effective Interpersonal Skills. I'm your instructor Dr. Vanessa Stephenson, you can all call me Nessa. I'm a senior lecturer in the Department of Applied Psychology at the University of North Cornwall, but I want you to think of me more as your guide on a journey of personal discovery and self actualisation.´

Finally, he couldn't delay any longer and slunk in two minutes late. So unlike him.

"This course is designed to help all of you develop your people skills and examine how you communicate and interact with others in your professional lives. I've taught this course a number of times as a weekend program. This is the first time I've expanded it to a full two weeks, so it promises to be a peak growth experience for me, as well as all of you. I'm _so_ looking forward to it and I hope you are too."

All through school, Martin had excelled at virtually every subject required of him; the maths and sciences, of course, but also English, French, Latin, History. In Music he had participated in choir and learnt to play piano passably well, though it had been years since he touched the instrument. In Art he had applied himself to figure drawing, which enhanced eye-hand coordination and helped him learn anatomy. Even in Physical Education, his most hated subject, he was a fast runner, with his long legs, which helped him muddle through various compulsory sports. Once he moved on to his medical education he was always first in his class at Imperial College, gravitating to the most difficult specialty, surgery; then honing his skills to master perhaps the most difficult rank of his specialty, vascular surgery. Even when he fell from grace as a surgeon, his diagnostic skills as a GP were keen enough to… well, to spot open angle glaucoma in a woman's eye from across an airplane seat.

"This is also the first time we've got a few health care professionals, as well as business men and women, participating. This course will help you relate to your patients as people, not just medical complaints. I'm aware that some of you are perhaps not participating entirely _voluntarily_ , however I want to assure you that you are amongst _friends_ here. I've had loads of success with all sorts of personality types, even those who might be considered to border on the autism spectrum, or, as I like to refer to them, fellow travelers on the path to be 'efficient perceptors of reality.'"

Now Martin sat in the back of the class in this further education college, feeling like the dullest dunce who was ever doomed to fail a remedial subject. His bespoke suit felt like an ill-fitting school uniform. Still, he had committed to this course, not just to placate the unctuous, platitudinizing eunuch but to show his commitment to staying in Portwenn. If this was the price to pay for being with Louisa, well, he was willing to grit his teeth to get through it.

"We're going to focus on such concepts as the differences between submissive, aggressive, and assertive behaviour; skills to persuade and influence people and reduce misunderstandings; and handling criticism constructively and with non-hostile humour. We will be practising various interpersonal skills over and over until they become second nature, and engaging in extensive role playing and trust exercises designed to get you outside your normal comfort zones."

Martin ducked his head, hunkered down his tall frame in the hard plastic chair with the tiny desktop attached, and hoped the teacher wouldn't notice him.

Of course, she did.

"Welcome. You must be…" She checked a roster on her desk. "Dr. Martin Ellingham. Now our group is complete. We're all going to be friends here so I've handed out name tags to help everyone get to know each other. Please hand this back to Martin."

The tag was passed back several rows to him. Martin stared at the alien object. Encased in a clear plastic shell with a safety pin attached was a card that read "Hello! My name is _." The card was white with bright red edges. He was already questioning his resolve in getting through the course. He was beginning to experience heart palpitations and hyperventilation, and a touch of nausea was coming up his throat. He loosened his tie and took out a handkerchief to wipe his palms. Honestly, at this point he would rather be back in surgical theatre up to his elbows in bright red than have to do this.

"This course, this journey to greater self awareness, is suitable for anyone who would like to enhance their performance by improving their working relationships, and no doubt it will also enhance your… er, personal relationships… er…"

Martin was still staring at the name tag when he became vaguely aware that the instructor's cheerful voice had trailed off and was replaced with a different voice.

"Doctor, um, Nessa. Are you all right?"

He looked up to see the instructor holding her hands up to her nose, which was bleeding profusely. A man in the front row was offering her a packet of tissues. Martin got up and moved to the front of the classroom.

"It's fine, it'll stop soon. It's been happening to me rather a lot lately," she said.

"How often have you experienced epistaxis… bleeding from the nostrils?"

"It's been coming on every few days for a month or so now. But it happened yesterday and again this morning, and now this."

Martin took her left hand and examined it as she tilted her head up and held the wad of tissue to her nose with her other hand. "You've got a pattern of tiny bruises on your skin," he said. "Those are purpura, minor bleeds from broken capillaries. The small ones are petechiae."

He pulled at the startled woman's lower lip. "You've got a purpuric rash here too. Have you had bleeding gums or menorrhagia?"

"Sorry, men or what?"

"Excessive menstrual bleeding."

" _What?_ That's none of your business! Just who do you think you are?" the instructor demanded. The rest of the class giggled nervously.

"I'm Dr. Martin Ellingham, you already know that. You said it when I came in the room, you silly woman!" The class laughed outright. "Just answer the question."

"Well yes, as a matter of fact," she admitted. "I've been taking Vitamin B and black cohosh for it."

"Black what?"

"Cohosh. It's an herbal remedy for menstrual disorders."

"And what have you been taking for the purpura bruises? Snake oil?"

The class laughed again.

 _"_ _Martin!"_ She pulled the tissue wad away from her nose and looked to see if the bleeding was subsiding. "Gavin Peters informed me about you. It seems _you_ more than anyone here would most benefit from this course."

"Well, _Nesta,_ when it comes down to getting a potentially life saving early diagnosis, would you rather have a doctor who excels at _trust exercises_ or one who can spot a serious illness before it progresses beyond treatment?"

"What are you talking about? And it's _Nessa!_ "

"ITP. Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. It's a condition in which the blood doesn't clot properly, possibly caused by an autoimmune response that attacks the platelets in the blood. It often responds well to treatment, but in rare cases can result in bleeding in the brain."

 _"_ _What?!"_

"You should see your GP as soon as possible to get a formal diagnosis. And you might want to rinse those bloodstains in cold water," he suggested.

Her nosebleed was starting to subside and she looked down to see big wet drops had fallen on her cardigan and on her notes for the course. "Oh dear, this isn't going how I had planned at all." She looked out at the class. The laughter had quieted down and they were just watching the spectacle, waiting to see what would happen next. "Perhaps we should cancel for the time being while I get all this sorted. You're all free to go."

 _Free!_ Martin strode into the hallway, as his fellow Interpersonal Skills students shuffled out and meandered on their way. He pondered for a moment the many ways the human body could malfunction. Mostly he just felt an overwhelming sense of relief that the ordeal was over before it had really begun.

He moved toward the exit to the car park. "Hey Doc," came a female voice behind him. "Wait up."

 _To be continued…_

Notes: A further education college is similar to a community college in the U.S.

I was always disappointed the show never actually showed Martin having to deal with the Interpersonal Skills course he agreed to take so I just couldn't resist imagining how it would go for him.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: The Long Walk

Monday Morning

Martin turned to see a blonde woman with her straight hair done up in a barrette ponytail. She was dressed in a pale blue embroidered blouse and loose white trousers, with long earrings and jangly silver bracelets adorning her wrists. Her light blue eyes were ringed with dark makeup.

Objectively, he thought she would be rather pretty if not for the intense way she had of looking at him, like a predator sizing up her prey.

"So, Doc Martin wanted to work on his interpersonal skills. Didn't do too well with your bedside manner diagnosin' the professor back there, did you," she said.

He stared at her, trying to come up with a name. "P.C. Mylow's sister, is it? I thought you left the vicinity."

"It's Sandra. I've got my clinic in Truro."

"Hm." Martin looked sceptical.

"People feel comfortable when they come to see me, which is more than I can say for _you,"_ she retorted.

"Well, what are you doing here then? Mastering effective interpersonal skills just for fun, are we?"

She looked embarrassed. "Um, it was strongly recommended to me by a judge, after, um, I was indiscreet about a patient's erectile problems. The patient threatened to sue, the tosser, but he backed off if I agreed to do this course."

"You were strongly recommended by a judge? You mean got an ASBO?!"

"Bollocks! It wasn't an ASBO! Those are for teenaged delinquents, not health care professionals."

"Health care professional. Right." Martin's tone was cutting.

She had a way of smirking where the right side of her mouth tugged up a bit higher than the left. "Whatever. I just wanted to thank you for getting all of us out of that ghastly course. With any luck it'll slip through the cracks and we'll never have to come back to it. I reckon conventional medicine has its uses after all."

Martin grunted his agreement about that. He peered down to make out the name scribbled on the name tag she still had pinned to her blouse. "Fannie Hertz? Who's Fannie Hertz?"

"It's a joke, you know? Like Ben Dover? Phil McCracken?"

Martin just looked puzzled.

"Dan Gleballs? Ben Twilley?" She laughed in her aggressive way. "All right, junior school humour that. But that instructor was total bullshit, right?"

Martin began to walk down the corridor and was disconcerted as she moved right along with him.

She scoffed. "I mean, black cohosh for menstrual disorders! Utterly useless unless you combine it with dong quai - Chinese angelica."

Now it was his turn to scoff. "And I suppose if that doesn't work you would recommend eye of newt and toe of frog next."

"Ooh, a joke! So you're not totally humour impaired after all."

She stepped closer and touched him on the arm, which startled him. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent, like a sweet tropical fruit. A sudden thought occurred to him. Her knowledge of plants and herbs could actually be useful.

"Er, Sonia. I do understand that alternative medicine can frequently be effective… in certain cases. Do you happen to know anything about… oleander?"

"Sandra," she said. She seemed pleased he was asking about her area of expertise. "Call me Sandy. Yeah, I do. What do you want to know?"

"It's quite toxic but is there any instance in which someone might want to make a tea from it?"

"Well, you wouldn't call it a tea because there's no actual tea leaves in it," she said. "But you can make a tisane infusion from the leaves, yeah."

"Hm. Is there any reason someone would do that?"

"Yeah, the extract has got all sorts of uses, good for muscle cramps, asthma, eczema, boostin' the immune system. It even makes a good organic insecticide. You've got to be _really_ careful usin' it though, should be taken only with the supervision of an expert herbalist. Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious. I noticed your perfume has the scent of oleander."

"Right, I make my own perfumes. All natural ingredients, none of the toxic synthetic stuff you get in commercial perfumes. Oleander is the top note in this one. Impressive that you recognized it." She smiled that smirking smile again. "Can't believe I said you had faulty smellin' apparatus that time."

Martin refrained from pointing out, once again, that oleander itself was quite toxic. Instead, he just retorted, _"did you?"_ He meant it to sound casual, like her comment had mattered so little it didn't register in his memory, but instead it took on a sarcastic _yes-you-did-say-that-didn't-you-you-ignoramus_ tone.

He remembered that moment all too well. He had gone up the stairs from P.C. Mylow's office, fully prepared to confront the constable's sister about her herbal medication aggravating the butcher's itchy rash. Instead he overheard her conversation with Louisa. He liked to think he and Louisa had since gotten past this unpleasantness but the memory of it still stung.

 _Louisa slowly and deeply exhaled. From his hidden position on the stairs Martin knew it was her, just from the sound of her breath. Dear God, her breath! Was she still obsessing over his unfortunate comment in the taxi?_

 _"_ _I really don't think there's anything wrong at all," Mylow's sister said._

 _"_ _Are you sure?" came Louisa's voice. "It's just that someone… it was a doctor actually."_

 _"_ _This wouldn't be our friendly local doctor, would it?"_

 _"_ _Well, he said that I have a certain…_ tang _… on my breath."_

 _"_ _Some people have a faulty smellin' apparatus. Which means they can falsely accuse others of, say, bad breath or body odour."_

 _"_ _Really? That's interesting. Yeah, well that would make sense… because he does have some physical quirks. I don't know if you know this… but um…"_

 _Martin's heart sank as Louisa confided his dreaded secret to this charlatan._

 _"_ _He's got a blood phobia."_

 _"_ _No! A blood phobia!" Mylow's sister found it hilarious. "That's great!"_

 _Louisa sounded regretful and immediately rushed to his defence. "But he is really a very,_ very _good doctor."_

 _"_ _As long as there aren't any cuts and scrapes involved, I imagine." Mylow's sister was still laughing and to Martin's further dismay Louisa even joined in a little. The herbalist then evidently gave Louisa a bottle of something._

 _"_ _Thank you," Louisa said. "You know you've been such a great help."_

Hurt. Shame. Betrayal. _Martin stepped out of the stairwell and into the room._

 _"_ _Martin!" Louisa sounded guilty and apologetic._

 _"_ _Louisa." He greeted her with an accusatory tone._

 _"_ _I hope your ears aren't burnin'," Mylow's sister smirked. "Dr. Ellingham. How_ nice _to see you._

 _Unable to meet his eyes, Louisa meekly departed._

 _Martin proceeded to have it out with the herbalist about her tablets malreacting with the treatment he had already prescribed for the butcher. "I am responsible for the health of this community," he concluded. "In future,_ please _check with me first. Is that clear?"_

 _As he went back downstairs, she yelled down at Mylow over some trivial matter, clearly taking out her irritation with Martin on her brother._

 _Mylow sighed. "I know you can't choose your family," he said, "but there's a line Doc, people shouldn't cross it, that's what I'm sayin'."_

"So how is Louisa?"

They had exited the building but she kept walking with him outside.

"Er… She's gone off to stay with a friend in London for a change of scene before the new school term begins."

Martin began to wonder if Mylow's sister had deliberately parked at the far end as he had done and they would have to walk the entire length of the car park together. He tried walking faster but she kept pace with him. So he thought perhaps he should attempt small talk.

"Er… so where is your brother now? Some of the villagers were saying he'd gone off to Hawaii, others said to Poland."

"Yeah, well actually he got a job testin' the rides at EuroDisney for a while. Now he's got a posting down in St. Gweep, where nobody's heard about his unfortunate engagement to that con artist Julie Whats-Her-Name. Apparently the previous constable there was quite thick so Mark should fit right in." She laughed derisively.

Martin merely grunted, unsure whether he should openly agree with her assessment of Mark Mylow's intelligence since he had unexpectedly grown rather fond of Portwenn's former constable before the man's abrupt departure. Certainly he preferred Mark to his aggressive older sister.

Seagulls circled the car park, their squawking sounded like they were laughing along with her. Martin had another thought.

"Er… Cindy. Are there any herbal remedies that might be useful for dispelling a territorial herring gull?"

"Got a problem with one of 'em, eh? I heard what happened at the cliffs when the choughs were nestin'. You blew them up and all. Choughs have great spiritual significance in Cornwall. Instead of tryin' to chase the gull away maybe you should be puttin' out food for it, makin' peace with it. You've got bad karma with birds now and this is nature's way of sayin' you need to atone. You know…"

She stepped closer and touched his arm again, running her fingers along the fabric of his sleeve. Was she… actually… _flirting_ with him?

"…I know an excellent organic tea shop near here, maybe you and me might have a cuppa together and talk it over."

Martin was horrified. "I, er… I have a full schedule at the surgery to get to today."

They had reached their cars at last, parked side by side. He clicked the remote lock and made his getaway as fast as possible.

 _To be continued…._

ASBO: An Anti-Social Behaviour Order, a court ordered injunction for someone who engaged in anti-social behaviour forbidding them from doing it again. ASBOs were discontinued in the U.K. in 2015 and they didn't actually include community service like attending a two-week course on mastering effective interpersonal skills but it's fun to think of Sandra Mylow getting one.

Dan Gleballs. Ben Twilley. These are actual joke DM patient names from S7. Try saying them out loud.

Testing the rides at EuroDisney: I couldn't resist borrowing this line from _Men Behaving Badly_ about where Gary's old flatmate Dermot ended up.

St. Gweep: The village from _Wild West_ , a BBC show that also featured Stewart Wright (Mark Mylow) as a Cornish village constable.


	17. Chapter 17

_I realize there are several parallel storylines going on in my story and it may be confusing to keep track of them all so I thought it might help to do some periodic recaps. So…_

 _Previously on Doc Martin: The Movie: While Louisa is out of town recuperating from the trauma of the hostage situation and her father's arrest, Martin is coping with various inconvenient situations. He has just managed to avoid going through with the Effective Interpersonal Skills course and had an unexpected encounter with the aggressive herbalist Sandra Mylow. He is also investigating a suspicious case of oleander poisoning. Meanwhile, the inhabitants of Portwenn are starstruck that a pair of famous actors are filming a movie in the village._

Chapter 17: A Mutual Friend

Monday Midday

In truth, Martin had nowhere he needed to be. He had cancelled all surgery visits for the next two weeks. He drove out of the college car park at speed and it was only when he was safely heading for the motorway back to Portwenn that he slowed down and considered how he should spend the day.

He stopped at a petrol station and decided to check for office messages once again. Since he had last checked Pauline had apparently come up with a new answer machine recording, even though she was on holiday while he was supposed to be at the course.

 _"Portwenn Surgery._

 _Not feeling well? Lost appetite?_

 _The Doc wants to help but we're closed a fortnight."_

Thoroughly irritated, Martin punched in the code to bypass the recording and get to any left messages but he couldn't do it fast enough.

 _"So if your head hurts or your knee's out of whack._

 _Head over to Wadebridge until we get…"_ BEEP.

"This is Jago Powell for Dr. Ellingham. I know the surgery's closed but a mutual friend suggested I give you a ring anyway. We've got a bit of a problem on set and our regular nurse is out sick. Ironic, that. Anyway, Wynnie's got a tummy ache and she won't come out of her trailer and it's holding everything up. We're on location over by the Wenn house today if you get this message."

Ordinarily, Martin might have dismissed this vague message about someone named Wynnie and her tummy ache but, having nothing better to do, he decided to head over and see what it was about. The fact that this Jago person, who seemed to be the actor everyone was talking about, claimed they had a friend in common was mildly interesting.

The Lexus tank now full, he finished paying and drove onto the motorway with renewed purpose.

000

As Martin slowed to make the turn into the long driveway of Wenn house, P.C. Penhale was there directing traffic. Not that there was so much traffic that it needed directing. The constable lit up when he saw Martin and waved him past the barricades into the long driveway, and then got in his police vehicle to follow him in with lights and siren going, to Martin's annoyance.

Martin pulled into the courtyard and parked amongst the film crew vans. A man came over to greet him. He was almost as tall as Martin, but slender, with black hair, an old fashioned moustache, sparkling grey eyes, and angular features like a male model. He was smartly dressed in 1930s-style tweeds. Martin recognized him from the film set the other day.

"It's all right Jago, I mean, Mr. Powell. It's the Doc, our local GP. The one I was talking about," Penhale said. "He's authorized to be here."

"Yeah, I know Joe, I rang him. And just call me Jago," the man said. He stuck out his hand for Martin. "Jago Powell. You must be Dr. Ellingham. I've heard so much about you."

Martin reciprocated the handshake, but acknowledged the man with only a "hm." He wondered what, in fact, this actor had actually heard about him.

The man waved Penhale away. "Go on Joe, it's a private matter." He led Martin to where a pair of large caravans were parked.

"Joe Penhale, a cop. Never would have thought that. I knew him back in school," he confided. "I spent some of my teenaged years here. Went to Wadebridge High School with Sam Penhale, Joe's big brother. Sam was always the achiever. Very artistic chap, very clever. Sporting too. He tried out for Plymouth Argyle. And then there was Joe. The bumbling little brother, always tagging along. Well meaning bloke, though. Seems to think you're the cat's whiskers."

"Hm."

Powell led Martin one of the caravans and knocked on the door. "Go away!" came a woman's voice with an American accent.

"Wynnie darling, I've brought the village GP. He's here to take a look at you."

"I don't want some local quack."

"Wynnie, he comes highly recommended. Supposed to be some sort of diagnostic wizard."

Martin wondered if this was something Penhale had said about him.

There was a pause, and then slowly the caravan door opened. "Oh, come in then," the woman said impatiently.

Martin followed Powell up the small steps into the caravan, which was rather well appointed and not at all what he expected. A woman lounged on a sofa, wearing a peach-coloured silk robe. Despite the irritable tone of her voice, she too was not what he expected. When he had seen her from a distance doing her scene inside the house the other day, she looked very young and curiously drab. In person, she appeared to be in her late 20s and brimming with languid self confidence. She had blonde hair bobbed to a 1930s style, pale grey eyes, and high cheek bones. Martin assessed her body mass index to be slightly below a healthy range for her size, which was certainly different from what he was used to seeing among the inhabitants of Portwenn. He wondered if perhaps a mild case of anorexia nervosa was at work. He also thought her mouth too thin and her overall appearance too fragile to be a perfect beauty, but she had a surprising magnetism. Even to Martin, who did not make a habit of watching movies, her face was startlingly familiar.

"Wynnie, this is Dr. Ellingham. Dr. Ellingham, the fabulous Wynnie Barlowe."

"What are your symptoms?" Martin inquired, setting his medical bag on the floor.

"I had terrible stomach pains last night. It's a little better now, but they can't expect me to work when I'm clearly under the weather."

"She was running a slight temperature last night, weren't you darling," Powell said, touching his hand to her forehead.

"Have you eaten anything unusual in the last 24 hours? Been out of the country recently?" Martin asked.

"She's American, she's usually out of the country. Constantly running back home to Los Angeles, when she should be concentrating on projects here in the U.K.," Powell said.

"Stop talking," Martin ordered. "Let the patient speak for herself."

Wynnie glared at Powell and pushed his hand away. "I haven't had anything unusual."

"Pain localized to the right side of the abdomen?"

"No, right in the middle." She put the thermometer he handed her in her mouth.

"So not likely appendicitis or gallstones. If you're often travelling abroad, just getting used to the food and mineral content of the water here might be enough to upset your digestive tract."

The thermometer beeped and he checked it. "Hm. Seems normal now."

"I suppose that could do it," she said. "I don't mind being here though. The scenery is just gorgeous, and… some of the local males are surprisingly nice to look at too." She took hold of his hand and stroked it, giving a sidelong glance at Powell as she did so.

Martin felt the tips of his ears turn pink. Strange that he was getting such attention from two women in one day, but this actress at least seemed to be merely trying to make her co-star jealous, he thought. Suddenly he felt he could no longer wait patiently for Louisa to return, he missed her acutely.

"Nice, strong hands, not like some I know," Wynnie continued. "You'd never get a manicure, would you Dr. Ellingham? It's just not manly, is it."

Powell glared at her and stuck his hands in his tweed trouser pockets.

"I'm always careful about what I eat, Dr. Ellingham. No red meat, no sugar, no refined flour."

"Very sensible," Martin grunted.

"Thank you, doctor. I'm not like some people, who claim they've given up intoxicants they can't handle and then get busted for drunk driving." She gave Powell a needling look.

"Oh, give it up, Wynnie!" Powell was clearly annoyed she had gotten to him. "That was some sort of misunderstanding. The charge was dropped, and it was over a year ago."

"Anyway," she turned her attention back to Martin. "I also stay away from red wine and chocolate, even fair trade raw chocolate. It triggers my migraines. I still get them sometimes. Like yesterday, I got one in the middle of a scene and I had to go lie down. Mrs. Daniels, the housekeeper here, gave me some special tea that cleared it right up though."

"Hm." Martin had a sudden thought. "Was that before or after the stomach pains and fever started?"

"Hours before." Wynnie suddenly sat straight upright. "You don't think the tea had something to do with it. It really helped up my migraine. Mrs. Daniels knows her herbal medicines. She's like a wise old Cornish witch."

"Is she now," Martin scoffed. Powell made a sceptical noise too.

Martin thought her symptoms were similar to the ones Mr. Wenn had complained of, although perhaps not as severe, but he decided to keep his suspicions to himself for now.

She reached out and stroked the lapel of his jacket. "Wool-silk blend, isn't it. Summer weight. Very nice fabric. I like a man that dresses well. I don't suppose you'd consider being my personal physician on set?"

"No," Martin declared, sterilizing the thermometer with alcohol and putting it away. "I have a surgery to run."

"Here, take my card." She wrote something on a business card and held it out to him. "That's my personal cell phone. In case you want to get together sometime and talk about healthy lifestyles… or anything at all."

He stuck the card in his pocket without looking at it. She glanced at Powell again. "Jago's throwing a masked ball for this little village. I wonder if I'll see you there, doctor."

"No."

"Wynnie," Powell said, "don't you think the tabloids might wonder if you were keeping company at the ball with a man other than your _husband_? Word might get out that you're on the verge of divorce."

She scoffed. "Divorce is such a negative word. Carl and I are going through what I prefer to call a _conscious uncoupling_. Anyway, it's not like _you're_ even capable of making a commitment to anyone, Jago. I hear you've already moved on to a new _friend_ now. Who is it, Lois something?"

Martin picked up his bag and prepared to walk out, leaving the two to their bickering. He reached for the door handle, but this last comment caught his attention.

"Her name is Louisa, and she _is_ just a friend, an old school friend," Powell said.

"You said you went to Wadebridge School. Er, is that how you know Louisa?" Martin asked.

"Right. She was in the same form with Joe Penhale, a year behind me and Sam but everybody knew Louisa Glasson. Prettiest and smartest girl in school."

There was a knock at the caravan door. Martin paused, then opened it.

 _To be continued…_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Louisa

Monday Midday

"Louisa!"

"Martin! What are you doing here?"

He was taken aback by the question. "I might ask you the same thing! You said you'd call when you were ready to come home, and I'd pick you up at the station."

Louisa felt elated to see Martin, unexpected as it was, but she could see that he was hurt to run into her like this without warning.

She wanted to throw her arms around him, run her hands through his close cropped hair, and pull him close for a happy-to-be-back-home kiss. Most of all, she wanted to tell him her story: how she was once a shy adolescent, whose Mum had deserted her and whose Dad spent his time with dodgy friends making dodgy deals; how when she was 15 she met a boy who understood what that was like, because his parents had also left him emotionally stranded to make his own way.

It was just about 20 years ago. Her older brother Tommy had left school the year before and left Cornwall soon after, going off to join Mum in Spain and then tramp about the Mediterranean. Dad had managed to get charges of receiving stolen goods dismissed. He had eventually convinced the judge he had no idea the discount car parts he had been selling were stolen, however he still ended up with a month-long sentence for twice failing to attend his court hearings.

Looking back as an adult, Louisa realized she was lucky to avoid being put into care. She was used to Dad occasionally staying out for a night or two so she was able to cook for herself, get her homework done, and get herself off to school in his absence, but this was the first time he had been away so long since Mum had left.

Young Louisa was feeling lost. Her best friend Isobel had recently moved away with her family and she was aware her other girlfriends vaguely knew of her father's dishonest ways, thanks to village gossip. She was too ashamed to confide in anyone.

Then one day the new boy showed up at school. Lost in her own thoughts, Louisa kept her eyes down in the crowded corridors at Wadebridge School and when she rounded a corner she collided with him and their books went flying all over. Stunned at this sudden intrusion of the outside world into her private misery, she expected this lanky, spotty stranger to be angry at her. Instead, his sparkling grey eyes lit up at the sight of her and he gave her a warm and generous smile. He collected all their books and belongings, asked her the way to the dining hall, then asked her if they could have lunch together.

Soon they were inseparable. He would buy her fish and chips, for which she was secretly grateful since Dad had left little money at home for groceries. She was tutoring him in maths, even though he was a year ahead, because she had always excelled at it and it was his weakest subject. And then she was confiding to him everything about her home life and he told her all about his own dad, who deserted the family and got himself killed in a car crash, and his mum, a would-be artist who took up with a series of boyfriends and brought the two of them out to Cornwall to be with the latest one.

Young Jago had a natural charisma, even then. He quickly made friends at his new school and drew the attention of lots of girls, but he fancied Louisa and she fancied him back.

One Saturday he asked her out on a picnic on the grass by the cliffs. They shared sandwiches, a bottle of cider he had nicked, and a kiss. It was her first kiss – and there were a few others after that.

Unlike her girlfriends, whose fathers would have looked askance at them keeping company with this boy, she had no parental supervision. She had to supervise herself, even after Dad got out and came home, but she was responsible and mature for her age. Even so, she was a 15-year-old girl experiencing first love. She began to think about what it would be like to be with Jago, to have her first time be with him, and she began to imagine how it would come about. In her mind, it would be a romantic celebration of the end of school term. She would be 16 by then. She could invite him to her home when she knew Dad would be gone all night, make a romantic dinner (nothing too complicated or expensive), complete with candles. They could share a bottle of cider or two, and see where things went from there. She wondered whether Jago was experienced and if he had access to condoms. If he didn't, maybe she could take a bus to Delabole, where no one knew her, and she could get up the nerve to buy them there. She wanted it all to be perfect.

Then on the last day of school, he never showed up. She found out through the grapevine his mum had had a row with her boyfriend and furiously packed up and moved her and Jago back to London.

Jago wrote to her, explaining and apologizing. They corresponded briefly but soon lost touch. It was her first experience with a broken heart but in time she got over it and was even glad her youthful seduction plan fell through. She became interested in Sam Penhale for a while. Dad cleaned up his act and got a job repairing boat motors. She began to seriously look into applying to university. In short, life moved on.

She earned her teaching degree, lived in London with friends, moved back to Cornwall, dated Danny Steel for several years, broke up with Danny when he moved to London, and prospered in her teaching career. She became involved in the community and created her own reputation and standing. People grew to like and respect her for herself. When Dad was accused of stealing from the Lifeboat Fund he turned his back on Portwenn for good and moved away, leaving his now adult daughter to the life she had made for herself. She knew some people snickered and gossiped behind her back that she was naïve to keep her trust in her father. It remained a sore point, but once Dad was gone she largely put his actions behind her.

In the meantime, the boy who had been her first love went on to attend drama school, to have a few small parts in sitcoms and commercials here and there, until he went off to the faraway world of Hollywood to try his luck. Louisa had no idea what became of him until suddenly there he was on the silver screen. An actual, bone fide, larger-than-life Movie Star.

And now here she was despondent over her father's final betrayal of her trust in him and she had a chance to meet up again with the one person who had truly understood her experience with parental dysfunction. He was right here again in her village, like the prodigal son returned home.

When she first showed up at the film set at Wenn Hall she didn't even have to try to get Jago's attention, he spotted her amongst the crowd watching the filming and came right over.

"I know you! Now don't tell me, you were in _The Lord of the Rings_ , weren't you," he said. She blushed. "No, silly! We were at school together."

Jago laughed. "Of course I know, Louisa! Louisa Glasson! I could never forget you!" He hugged her and she suddenly felt better than she had in quite a while.

So when Louisa knocked on the caravan door and Martin opened it, she was surprised but genuinely elated to see him. Martin was constantly on her mind while she was away, but she had to admit she was also bothered by the thought that he simply didn't understand how upsetting it was for her to have to face the truth about her father, how conflicted she was. To Martin her father was just a criminal and as such didn't merit her concern. She knew he thought she should simply cut Dad out of her life and move on.

Louisa wanted to explain all these things to Martin but she was so surprised to see him all she could say was "What are you doing here?" She felt ridiculous as soon as she said it.

"I might ask you the same thing…" he retorted.

Louisa was embarrassed, having meant to get in touch with him before they ran into each other.

"I left a message on your mobile just a little while ago, but I suppose you've been out of range. Caroline Bosman happened to be in London you see, and she texted me last night that there was a movie being filmed in Portwenn and Jago was here, and she was driving back so I got a ride with her rather than take the train. We got home late, I didn't want to disturb you. I thought your Interpersonal Skills course began today."

"It did… er, it's been postponed for now."

Jago and Wynnie were staring at them. "Martin, let's step outside."

Martin followed Louisa down the short steps and into the forecourt. She could see in his eyes he felt betrayed, and he ducked his head in that way he had to avoid showing his hurt feelings, but she couldn't help feeling, well, _annoyed_. Why should he feel hurt over a missed phone call after all she had been through lately?

Joe Penhale and various members of the film crew were milling about, so she moved away until they were in front of Jago's trailer and she tried to keep their argument low but Martin didn't keep his voice down.

"You've been away so long. I thought you were taking a break from the troubles your father caused, and then I find you all it took to bring you back home was this movie business happening here. I never thought you would be taken in by all this… this ridiculous _celebrity worship_ that has afflicted every other villager!"

"Martin, you make it sound so shallow. Jago Powell and I knew each other back in school. We were… _close friends_ once."

That just made things worse. She could see the hurt escalate to smouldering jealousy, the way it had when he had seen her with Danny months ago. It was no good, she thought. She and Martin simply didn't have the kind of relationship where she could confide this sort of thing to him.

"I don't know why I thought you would understand," she snapped. "Not everyone had a perfect, posh, proper upbringing like Martin Ellingham had."

"What are you talking about? Perfect upbring… you're being utterly ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous, am I?" She turned on her heel, and ponytail bobbing, ran into Jago's caravan and slammed the door.

 _To be continued…_

Notes: "Her older brother Tommy…" In my story _Louisa Glasson and the Green Mermaid_ Louisa has a brother. In the canon no one ever actually says she was an only child.

"Being put into care" means foster care.

 _The Lord of the Rings_ : I always thought Caroline Catz looks a bit like Liv Tyler.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Conflicted Feelings

Monday Afternoon

Louisa clicked the lock on the caravan door and leaned her back against it, tears starting to flow. Why did Martin have to be so infuriatingly insensitive? It was something she wondered about ever since she had known him. After all they had been through together now she was trying to be more understanding of the way he was but she had hoped he would develop more understanding of her conflicted feelings about her father.

She thought back to some events not so long ago.

000

 _It was a gorgeous, warm day, with tourists swarming around the harbour. Louisa had decided to treat herself to an ice cream cone, when Martin happened by. She was happy to see him then. He had sincerely apologized for the unfortunate erotomania accusation, her Dad was back in town, and both the men in her life had actually remembered her birthday the day before. She was in such a good mood, she offered to buy Martin an ice cream._

 _"_ _Oh no, hurts my teeth."_

 _"_ _Dad always used to take us for ice cream every weekend," she reminisced, taking a lick. "Said that after the age of six my arteries were made of ice."_

 _"_ _That sounds fun," he humoured her._

 _"_ _Think you had a bit of difficulty at the surgery yesterday," she remarked._

 _"_ _Uh no, not really."_

 _"_ _Oh, Dad said he practically had to force you to give his friend Jonathan some medication. I told him that was just how you liked to welcome new patients."_

 _"_ _It's not," Martin said, seriously. "There are procedures."_

 _"_ _Blood out of a stone, that's what he said," she gently teased him._

 _"_ _Well, at least I'm not a thief," he retorted._

 _She had grown used to his blunt manner but that remark genuinely hurt, especially considering she had publicly told off everyone down the pub who had mocked Dad the day before. "Martin, I was just teasing you. And I wouldn't have thought that…_ you, _of all people, would join in with local gossip."_

 _"_ _I'm not," he protested._

 _"_ _All this time you keep your distance from everyone and when you finally decide to show some community spirit it's to join in with malicious rumours about my father." Suddenly she could no longer enjoy her ice cream_

 _"_ _But they're not rumours," he persisted. "Ask Joan, she said she caught him red handed. Stealing the money."_

 _Now furious, she mashed her half-finished ice cream into his forehead as the seagulls screamed around them._

 _"_ _Louisa!" he entreated her, but it was too late, she didn't want to hear any more from him. She turned on her heel and walked away._

 _But his accusation nagged at her. That night, she was having dinner at home with Dad and she had to say something._

 _"_ _Dad, I haven't forgotten, you know, sitting in the bookmakers on my 10_ _th_ _birthday with a packet of sweets with you telling me how the next race was gonna be the one that would come in. It was always the next one."_

 _"_ _Louisa," he reproached her._

 _She was very serious. "Dad, I need to know. Did you take that money?"_

 _"_ _No, I didn't." He was equally serious. "I might be many things but I'm not a thief."_

 _He sounded as sincere as always, but she knew she had to face facts. "When one person tells you that you're wrong you can ignore them but when it's a whole village… it's hard. You know every day I have to ask myself - am I being a fool still believing in you? I… I know how hard it must have been for you bringing us up after Mum left."_

 _He was quick to dismiss any mention of Mum. "Louisa, that money was for the lifeboats. Do you really think that I'd stoop that low?"_

 _"_ _So Joan… Joan never caught you. She never saw you take it? She's lying as well?"_

 _Unable to face her, he got up to put his dish in the sink, muttering "Joan. Meddling cow."_

 _By now Louisa was in tears. "How could you?"_

 _He turned to face her. "I had gambling debts, big debts. There was this horse, a sure thing. When it won I was gonna pay the money back. Of course…."_

 _"_ _I meant how could you lie to me all these years? How could you let me make a fool of myself in front of my friends? In front of the whole_ _village_ _?!"_

 _"_ _I'm sorry."_

 _She got up to fully confront him. "I think… I think you should leave in the morning, Dad." Then she left the room._

 _When morning came she was still angry at Dad, at the village, at the whole world, but she was no longer angry at Martin. The review board was meeting at noon_ _to decide his fate and she felt that, for all his faults, he would need a friend on his side._

 _She showed up early to the conference room at The Harbour Café, where Gavin Peters, and the other two board members waited for Martin to show up for his appointment. She was the only one seated on her side of the table facing the large window looking out on the Platt, so she was the only one who saw him come striding down the hill on time, only to be distracted by the pastie-eating contest going on there._

 _"_ _He's probably been held up by a patient," she said. "He's very dedicated." She kept her expression carefully neutral so as not to show her dismay as the scene outside silently escalated. Martin was clearly arguing with the contestants over something and he began confiscating all the pasties in a bin bag. Peters and the other two were oblivious but getting agitated over his lateness._

 _"_ _If Dr._ _Ellingham doesn't feel that his attendance is in his best interests then the board will have no choice but to consider the accusations substantiated," Peters said._

 _Outside, Martin was clearly ranting at the crowd and they began to pelt him with pasties. How could someone so intelligent be so clueless about dealing with people? Louisa didn't know whether to cringe or laugh, but she suppressed the urge to do either._

 _"_ _Well, I think we've sat here long enough," Peters said. "Obviously Dr. Ellingham has decided to show his contempt for this process."_

 _At that moment, Martin came in, dishevelled and very agitated. "Can we push this along? Something I have to attend to. I also have potentially infected processed meat in my hair."_

 _"_ _Dr. Ellingham," Peters was in full officious mode. "This review board is…"_

 _"_ _I know what a review board is. Get to the point."_

 _"_ _Are you aware that I've spoken to a number of people in the village? They felt that your attitude towards them was… a little superior. Some would go so far as to say condescending. Others simply settled on_ rude. _I have a list of the incidents cited."_

 _"_ _Is there a particular medical problem you wish to discuss?"_

 _"_ _Health care is more than that. Especially in villages like this. A doctor needs to go the extra yard, to be a part of the community."_

 _Martin had clearly had enough. "All right, look. You've carried out your investigation, you've got lots of evidence, and I don't doubt that you've reached your conclusion. So why don't you just cut to the chase."_

 _"_ _Fine," Peters said._

 _Louisa was struck by how different Martin's attitude to this review board was to the interview committee where she first met him properly. Then he was all confidence, and even charm, as he dazzled them with his credentials; he took the anger she had directed at him in stride. She had called him out on his poor social skills and predicted he would inevitably alienate people. She had been proven right but now she saw so much more to him than just an odd man who had gawked at her inappropriately on an airplane._

 _Now it was Martin's turn to be angry, which was understandable perhaps, but Louisa was saddened to see he also seemed resigned to his fate, unwilling and unable to defend himself. She decided it was time she became his defender._

 _"_ _You know," she said, "I'm actually quite surprised by some of the people that you've chosen to interview about Dr. Ellingham. I mean, Mrs. Redtree, she's always got an axe to grind, you know. Last month it was because it was the postman left her gate open, practically strung him up for it. Mr. Thornton. Complaining is his hobby. He even wanted to ban the seagulls because they made too much noise. You know, he's hardly a reliable witness."_

 _"_ _Well, I spoke to a number of people," Peters said._

 _"_ _Really, and none of them had a good word to say about Dr. Ellingham?"_

 _"_ _Well, some, um… the chemist, for example, she was very…_ enthusiastic _about him…" Peters sounded a bit baffled by the level of the chemist's enthusiasm_

 _"_ _Mrs. Tishell, yeah. So you just chose to write down the testimonies of those who enjoy whinging, hmm?"_

 _"_ _Miss Glasson, what's your point?"_

 _"_ _Well, even I find Dr. Ellingham a little bit…_ frustrating _at times." As Louisa spoke, the other woman on the review board nodded. Louisa ignored her. "But I also know that we are very lucky to have him here in the village, you know so do most of these people. So my point is…"_

 _Peters cut her off. "Thank you Miss Glasson. Dr. Ellingham, there is a recent initiative. A training course focusing on people skills."_

 _Louisa heard Martin mutter_ "Oh God!"

 _"_ _It's two weeks, and it will teach you how to relate to your patients as people, not just medical complaints. After that, I'll return to see how you've taken it on board."_

 _"_ _And what if I choose not to attend your initiative,_ Gavin? _"_

 _"_ _Well then, I'll recommend you be removed. It really is down to you, Dr. Ellingham."_

 _Martin muttered "Right." He got up, took his bin bag of potentially infected pasties, and left. Peters threw up his hands in disgust._

 _"_ _Well, he probably just needs some time to think about it," Louisa said, lamely._

 _She went out after him. From a distance she saw him dispose of the bin bag and stalk through the village, up the hill, and into the surgery. She followed, unable to keep up with his long legged stride. She was vaguely aware that she passed Dad's unstable friend Jonathan, who was sitting on a bench eating chips, but she wasn't concerned with him. It was only later she realized he must have followed her._

 _Louisa went into the surgery and straight to Martin's office. She knocked._

 _"_ _Come," he said tersely._

 _"_ _Was that really necessary?" she confronted him._

 _"_ _No, it wasn't." He was clearly very tense._

 _"_ _You, you… you do realize how serious this is?" Louisa's calm demeanour when challenging Peters at the review board was gone. She felt really distraught._

 _"_ _Yes, I do."_

 _"_ _Martin, they want to get rid of you. Don't you even care about that? Look, I know that you've never really fitted in around here and I know that you've never really tried and you're not interested in doing so, and I've always tried to understand that about you, because… because... well that's just you, that's what you're like. But I don't even think this is about that. I think that you deliberately wanted that review to go wrong, and I think that you want them to replace you and to send away from here. Well, Martin, you know, for what it's worth… I would like you to stay. So there."_

 _She had poured her heart out to him and she could see it had an effect. His face softened and she thought there was almost a glint of a tear in his eye. This is it, she thought, I've finally really gotten through to him._

 _"_ _Louisa…" he began._

 _That's when Jonathan barged in._

000

Someone rattled the caravan door handle and then knocked.

"Go away, Martin!"

"He's gone," came Jago's voice. "Let me in, it's my caravan needed to get away from him for a while, and from all the nosy parkers out there." She slumped down onto the sofa. "It's all so confusing. My relationship with my father has always been an emotional rollercoaster and now it's the same way with Martin. I needed to get away from here for a while so I could come to terms with my Dad, the way he is and all. I feel like I've come to accept it but I'm still having bad dreams about… well, I'm sure you heard about what happened a few weeks ago."

"Yeah," he said, plopping down beside her. "Joe Penhale was telling me something about some mental patient off his meds took a bunch of you hostage so he could get his hands on some explosives, something like that. Joe wasn't too clear on the details."

"It was one of my Dad's dodgy friends. I'm sure Dad had no clue how bad the whole thing would get but Crazy Jonathan threatened me with a knife and he stabbed my Dad. Nearly stabbed Martin too. It's getting better but I still wake up shaking some nights."

"You might have PTSD, only natural after what you went through. I was only 12 when my Dad died and I had a hard time of it, even though I hadn't seen him in a few years. Then later… I don't know if you know what happened with my Mum after we moved away to London."

Louisa did know. "You found her dead of a heroin overdose in your flat," she said gently.

"Yeah, I guess my sad, dysfunctional childhood has been pretty well covered by the tabloid press."

"I'm so sorry, Jago. How did you cope with all that?"

"I didn't for a long time," he said. "I partied a lot, booze and cocaine were my best mates, until I hit bottom, realized I was gonna end up like my Mum. I've been incredibly lucky with my career but what I thought was having a good time was really self medicating. I don't recommend it. Now I'm five years clean and sober and proud of it."

"I tell you what," he put his arm around her. "You need something fun to distract you from your woes. You might have heard, I'm throwing a big party for the village this Friday night."

"Caroline said something about that, a masked ball. Pretty exotic for little Portwenn."

"Well, maybe it's time sleepy little Portwenn woke up for one night. It'll make the old Portwenn Players Ball look like a Women's Institute garden party." Jago got up and rummaged in a drawer till he found what he was looking for. "It's my thank you for all the inconvenience we've been causing here with my film project. I may be living sober but I still like to be around people having a good time. Anyway," he handed her an envelope made from heavy, cream coloured paper. "I'd like you to be my special guest."

Louisa was stunned. "Really?" She opened it to find a gilt edged invitation.

"Yeah. Everyone is supposed to go incognito and guess each other's identities but if you just happen to let slip to me what your costume will be I can plan something to coordinate with you."

Louisa was feeling better already.

 _To be continued…_


	20. Chapter 20

Previously on _Doc Martin: The Movie_ : Pauline is still dealing with the after effects of being held hostage and threatened by Crazy Jonathan. Despite her mother's negativity, she was cheered up by the idea of auditioning to be an extra in the movie being filmed in Portwenn, however she and Bert didn't get a part. Instead Al, who wasn't even interested in auditioning, gets cast. Pauline had been angry at Al for not posting her university application, but now she finds feelings have changed.

Chapter 20:

Reception Chickie and Plumber Boy

Monday evening.

"Hand me the colander, luv. It's right there in back of you."

Pauline looked up from the newspaper crossword she had been staring at, and turned around to grab the metal basket lying atop a pile of dishtowels on the counter. She held it up to the light for a moment, looking at the circular pattern of holes punched in it, before handing it over to Bert.

"Thanks. The pasta will be ready in just a tick," he said.

"Funny, you being such a good cook Bert, when Al can't tell a colander from a… well, a sieve," she remarked. Bert just laughed.

Pauline couldn't concentrate on the half finished puzzle. The sound of Jonathan's threat came back to her, _"tick tock, tick tock… either you do it, or I make a colander out of Reception Chickie."_ She guessed at an answer, then furiously erased it, wrote another one, then erased that too. The sound of the kitchen clock behind her suddenly seemed unnaturally loud.

She chewed on the pencil end and stared as Bert selected a chef's knife and laid it against a whetstone on the counter top, expertly sliding the blade edge across the rough stone over and over. The scraping set her nerves on edge. Then he finished it off with a honing steel, rinsed and dried it, and held it up to admire the gleam on the razor-sharp edge. He took the rinsed salad greens from the colander and quickly sliced them up. Then he hacked up a cucumber. Finally, he took a ripe red tomato and plunged the blade deep into it. Juice and seeds oozed out. She shuddered at the sight.

Pauline felt hot and short of breath, just like when she was riding in the Doc's car, sitting in back next to crazy Jonathan with Louisa on the other side. It was uncomfortably quiet, with the nutter there clutching his shotgun, and uncomfortably hot with the three of them wedged together in the back seat, and she didn't have the nerve then to press the window button or ask the Doc to turn on the AC.

She got up and opened the kitchen window, as Bert concentrated on mixing up the vinaigrette. The cooling salty breeze was a relief, just like when the Lexus had reached the sea cliff and they all got out. The sea breeze seemed to calm everyone down a bit. Jonathan ignored her then, focusing on coercing the Doc into climbing down the cliff to where Al was with the baker and the contraband. Pauline remembered she had never felt so relieved to be ignored by someone.

 _"_ _Where's Plumber Boy?" Jonathan had demanded._

 _It was still chaotic though, what with the Colonel demanding to know what was going on? Why did that man have his gun? What was this about explosives? And then the Doc was wanting to know the condition of the Baker._

 _"_ _The Baker! The Colonel! Do these people have no names? What's going on here?" Jonathan exclaimed. And yet he couldn't be bothered to know her name, even as he had threatened her life, dismissing her only as Reception Chickie._

 _But the nutter couldn't ignore the Plumber Boy, Al, who had climbed freehand up the rugged cliff from the sea with a bag of explosives slung over his back. Oblivious as Al was to his deadly cargo, even with the fate of the nutter's hostages depending on him, he had stopped to help when he saw a man in trouble and then to assist the Doc in a delicate operation in a less than ideal situation. Courage is grace under pressure, Pauline knew some writer had said that, and she knew Al Large had shown courage in spades._

Six Across: "The ability to encounter danger with a steadfast and unbroken spirit." Seven letters. She firmly wrote in "A-L-L-A-R-G-E" and pushed the puzzle aside.

She had once thought Al sabotaging her plan to go to university was unforgivable but now she felt ready to forgive him anything. Looking around her, the Large household seemed painfully lacking in a woman's touch. There were heaps of clothing and papers everywhere and the faded pink sofa looked like someone had rescued it from the side of the road. Al and his widowed father had fallen into bachelor mode since dear old Mrs. Large had passed away so many years before. Pauline thought if she moved in she could really do a lot with the place.

"Well, if it isn't Portwenn's newest star of the silver screen," Bert greeted his son as Al walked in the door. "What did they have you doin' all day, boy? An extra is just part of the scenery, after all. Go on, set the table."

"They spent a few hours getting' me done up by the makeup artist and pickin' out clothes for me," Al explained, as he put out the plates. "Then I spent most of the day standin' around, waitin' for them to be ready for my scene. I was just supposed to be standin' behind Jago Powell's character, polishin' the vintage motorcar. But then the director heard me talkin' to Lorna Gillet, thought I had a 'real Cornish sound' to my voice, and decided I could say a few lines too. So I'm getting' paid more."

"That's great, Al!" Pauline was thrilled.

"Yeah, great." Bert was sarcastic. "Don't be so chuffed, boy. While you're out hobnobbin' with movie stars I have to pick up the slack with the plumbing business. You know I ended up havin' to fix the toilet at the Village Hall."

"I'm gettin' paid more for this than what you pay me. I don't have to put my hands into anybody's toilet either. The thing about extras," Al went on as he put out the forks, knives, and glasses, "is you have to be able to pay attention and follow directions, even if it means doin' the same thing over and over for take after take. And it's not true that they don't act, but you have to be subtle. If there's an extra on screen who isn't being true to the scene or overactin' or something the audience would notice right away."

"It's really been an education for you, then," Pauline said.

"This actin' game is a bit of a doddle though, innit," Bert retorted. "Poncin' around in makeup and fancy dress and all. We all know that, I'm just sayin' it out loud."

"You didn't say that when you were in the Portwenn Players," Al responded. "Anyway, it's nice work if you can get it, and _I_ got it and _you… don't!_ "

"Yeah, well dinner's ready. Serve yourself, Sir Allen Olivier." Bert plunked the bowls of spaghetti and salad onto the table unceremoniously and plopped himself into a chair. They began to eat in uncomfortable silence.

"So, Paul, how did the first day of your holiday go?" Al sought to break the silence. "I heard the Lifeboat crew was havin' trainin' at Roscarrock Bay today, that must have kept you busy."

"I quit the lifeboats," she said.

"What? But you worked so hard to pass the trainin'!"

"Yeah I know, but my Mum's always going on at me about how dangerous it is, racing out into storms and all in those little boats. I just, I just need a break from danger for a while, after… you know."

More awkward silence.

"Well, we've been havin' some lovely weather lately," Al tried again. "Feels like summer could last into October if it keeps going like this."

A safe topic having been introduced, the tension eased a bit and Pauline was able to enjoy the food more. Afterward, Bert took off for the pub and she and Al were left alone to clean up.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me leaving Portwenn any more," she said. "The nursing program turned me down. I'm just going to be Reception Chickie for the rest of my life."

She thought he would be happy at the thought that she was staying but her words just seemed to make him sad. He put down the plate he was drying and put his arm around her. "I don't like to see you givin' up on things, Paul."

"I'm not, I'm just learning to appreciate what I have here. I've got a good job with the Doc, looks like he'll be sticking around. And this old village isn't so bad after all."

"Well, there's this masked ball they're havin', down on the Platt. They're plannin' on settin' up a tent because the Village Hall won't hold everybody. Somethin' different in this old village, anyway." He put the dried plates away.

"I just can't see you in fancy dress Al, no matter what Bert says about acting. Like that time all the surfers had a party at Ross's place, remember that? Elaine and me were there, she was the Wicked Witch of the West and I was a naughty nurse, if you can believe it. We spent hours on our costumes. And there you were, you came as yourself."

"Actually, I was the Ninth Doctor. I had the black T-shirt and jeans and the black leather coat."

"You just put on some clothes you already had, and the black coat wasn't even real leather as I recall and it was more of a jacket than a coat." She smiled at the memory.

"Well, I did have the haircut right, didn't I. There, even just rememberin' about that cheered you up."

"But for a masked ball you have to put in some effort on the costume. And you have to wear a mask."

"See, that's the part I don't get," he said. "Why a mask?"

"I suppose maybe it makes people more uninhibited. When the mask goes up their guard goes down."

"I don't think I have a guard."

She smiled again. "No, Al Large, I don't suppose you do. What you see is what you get with you. People aren't supposed to go as a couple to the ball anyway. You're not supposed to know who everybody is."

"Well, do you want to go then?"

"I dunno. It'll be loud and crowded. Don't think I'm up for loud and crowded lately."

"What if I just take you for some pizza and the movies over in Delabole that night? You're always sayin' we never go out. Jago Powell's latest is playin' at the multiplex there. Now that I'm workin' with him I kinda want to see him on screen. You know, study his actin' technique and all."

That actually made her laugh out loud.

"There you go," Al said. "You're feelin' better already."

 _To be continued…_

Notes: A doddle is something very easy, a piece of cake.

The Ninth Doctor is of course from _Doctor Who_ , the Christopher Eccleston incarnation.


	21. Chapter 21

Previously on _Doc Martin: The Movie_ : After missing Louisa, Martin unexpectedly ran into her at the movie filming at Wenn Hall and they had an argument. Meanwhile, he has some time on his hands after closing the surgery for two weeks so he could attend the two week course which ended up being cancelled. He is also puzzled by a case of oleander poisoning at Wenn Hall and a possibly similar case afflicting the actress Wynnie Barlow.

Chapter 21: A Ride With Penhale

Tuesday Morning.

Martin peeked out his front door and looked around cautiously. All quiet out on the stone terrace. The rather expensive ultrasonic bird repellent sound system he had installed there last night seemed to have actually worked. He stepped out with his espresso cup to look at the early morning sky over the harbour. It looked like it was shaping up to be a hot, humid day, with some rain clouds moving in from the sea. He sipped leisurely then went back inside and laid out the workings of his current project, restoring the works of a mahogany Regency-style mantel clock.

He laid out the miniature cogs and springs and the tool set and admired how precise they looked. He savoured the anticipation of getting the mechanism running in perfect order again. It made him feel calm and in control. Poised to begin work, he was distracted by thoughts of his encounter with Louisa yesterday.

Martin still couldn't understand that she would so loyally defend her father when the man was so obviously unworthy. Perhaps he shouldn't have come out and called her father a thief that time at the Platt but really it was time she faced facts. After all, Martin knew very well what it was like to have parents that one didn't respect and he had come to accept that reality and move on with his life. But now the idea that Louisa would return home without telling him, and make her first stop a visit to hobnob with a film star she had briefly known years ago rather than coming to see him, it was just disheartening. Should he wait for her apology or try to make it up to her for their argument, and if so how? It was all so messy and confusing. If only more things could be as easy to fix as a clock, life would run like… well, clockwork.

He sighed and picked up a small screwdriver to begin work, then noticed the tool's fine blade tip was chipped. Frustrating. He was always so careful with maintaining and storing his tools. He stared at the tiny flaw in irritation.

There came a knock at the front door. Distracted, Martin put the screwdriver in his pocket and went to answer it. It was P.C. Penhale, with his police van parked right in front of the surgery facing up the hill.

"Hey Doc, I'm not interrupting anything, am I? This whole business about Mr. Wenn being sick has been bothering me. And I'm hearing Wynnie Barlow was sick too. The common denominator in both cases is the housekeeper, Mrs. Daniels, serving them tea. Can't possibly be a coincidence."

"Of course it could be a coincidence," Martin retorted. "Two people could have gastrointestinal symptoms independent of each other. Then there was the dog that died, probably of old age. Unlikely it would have drunk any tea."

Penhale seemed disappointed at having this pointed out. He scratched his head a moment and pondered.

"Well, I reckon you could be right, Doc, but there's still the possibility there's a crime wave taking place right under our noses. So I'm heading up to Mrs. Daniels's cottage on the moor to have a spontaneous interview with her. My sources tell me it's her day off and I want to surprise her, so she doesn't have time to work on a story. D'you want to come? You could keep me company on the ride." His brown eyes were eager for Martin's approval.

Martin scowled.

"Been taking my narcolepsy medication," Penhale assured him. "I'm OK to drive now."

Martin's first instinct, as always when dealing with Penhale, or really almost anyone in the village, was to say "no," and certainly the prospect of keeping the policeman company didn't make the trip any more appealing. He stopped himself, thinking he had his own vague suspicions about the housekeeper and it was possible she was unintentionally making people sick with her herbal remedies so it might be worth having a talk with her. And after all, he did have a lot of time on his hands as surgery was still cancelled for the fortnight. So he surprised himself by saying "yes."

The drive proved longer than he had expected. Mrs. Daniels lived down a long rural road, in an area Martin had never been before. He was happy to ride in silence but Penhale insisted on chattering.

"It's great to be back around here again. Getting to see old friends, renewing old acquaintances. I didn't grow up right here in the village, I was out by Wadebridge, went to Wadebridge School with Jago Powell. He lived here for a while as a teenager, don't know if you know that. He was in the same form as my brother Sam. Louisa Glasson was in my form. Hadn't seen Louisa in years. Ran into her at the film shoot at Wenn Hall yesterday."

Penhale took on a confiding tone. "She seemed a bit interested in me. Kept asking if I was OK. I confirmed that she's not married, doesn't have an actual boyfriend, and has no kids - other than the ones at her school, I mean."

"Hm," Martin replied, doubtful that Louisa's interest was anything more than inquiring about Penhale's mental health. He wondered if he should be concerned that Louisa said she didn't have an actual boyfriend.

"She went out with Sam a time or two back in those days, nothing serious. I always rather fancied her myself, but there seems to be a spark rekindling with her and Jago. Who can blame her? He was just named _Entertainment Weekly's_ 'Entertainer of the Year.'"

Martin was already regretting he had agreed to go for this ride.

"On the other hand, I reckon Jago's got his problems. He's been through rehab a few times, and he still got nicked for drink driving last year."

"He seemed rather insistent the other day that he hadn't been drinking when he was stopped," Martin countered.

"I read the arrest report, Doc. The charges were dropped because the breathalyser was negative and within an hour he seemed normal again, but he was acting impaired when P.C. Mylow pulled him over. If Jago wasn't actually pissed he must have been on _something_ , doesn't take a rocket surgeon to see that."

"Hm." This was too nonsensical for Martin to say anything more.

They rode in welcome silence for a minute or two, but Penhale couldn't keep quiet for long.

"Saw you chatting with Louisa yesterday. Didn't seem like you two were getting on too well. Not everybody appreciates your, uh, _forthright_ manner, Doc."

"How much farther is it?" Martin blurted out.

"Getting there, hold your horses." Penhale was quieted by the outburst, but not for long. "So Louisa and her Dad were also involved in the _incident_ with the mental patient at the surgery."

"Er, yes they were."

"I almost envy you Doc, living through a drama like that, facing down an armed psycho. What's it like to have a loaded gun pointed at you? When you survive that do you feel, like, truly _alive_ for the first time in your life?"

If possible, Martin was now even more alarmed by the turn the conversation was taking. How could he possibly respond to that? What was it like looking down the barrel of a shotgun, knowing your next breath could be your last and you had absolutely no control over it? It's not exhilarating or thrilling, he thought. Having the grim truth of your mortality shoved in your face like that just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

"Hm. I advise against the experience," was all he could bring himself to say.

Fortunately, just then they found into the turnoff for the cottage.

 _To be continued…_


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22: North by Northwest Cornwall

Tuesday Midday.

There was light rain as they drove but now the clouds had all but disappeared. The air was hot and still, oppressive with moisture. They parked on the gravel drive and walked up a slight hill, past a rock garden of weathered granite and a variety of abstract sculptures welded together from random junk. Other metal junk lay in a rusting heap by a stunted gorse shrub. There was no other vehicle to be seen. All around them Bodmin Moor seemed vast and deserted.

They reached the house and Penhale read the name on a sign painted with blue and purple flowers above the front door. "Larkspur Cottage. That sounds nice."

"Hm. Larkspur is toxic if ingested, just like oleander."

Penhale looked alarmed. "Pretty suspicious then, eh Doc?"

"It's just a name, not a threat."

Penhale knocked on the door. No answer.

"Didn't you check she would be home first before driving all the way out here?" Martin asked.

"Element of surprise. Don't give the suspect time to work on their story before the interrogation, I mean interview." Penhale tried the door, peeked in a window, then stepped back for a look upward. "There's an upstairs window left open. I bet I could climb up there to gain entry and have a look around… if I had a warrant, of course."

Annoyed at the waste of time the expedition was turning into, Martin casually examined the ground beside the gravel path to the door. "Someone's been here though." He pointed to two clearly visible footprints, and a few partial prints, in the sparse damp grass beside the path. "Those look fresh. They were pressed into moist earth. There was no rain for four days before today, the ground would have been too dry to show footprints made before this morning at the earliest. And they're not from either of our shoes."

Penhale came over to examine them. Martin had to put out an arm to keep the constable from treading on the evidence.

"Boots," Penhale said. "Doc Martens, if I'm not mistaken. Smallish feet, likely a woman."

"Hm. Less likely if they were wearing, er, Doc Martens. The housekeeper is a rather tall woman, if I remember. The boots could be worn by a man of shorter stature."

"You're right, Doc. We make quite a team. A short man, or at least one with feet on the small side, could have been here to see Mrs. Daniels."

Martin looked up at the cottage. He thought there was a slight movement from the open upstairs window. It might have been a bit of breeze moving the curtain, but the air felt very still. He sniffed and frowned. For a moment he caught a whiff of something sickly sweet, like butterscotch but artificial, chemical-smelling. "Do you smell that? It's like butterscotch, or a cheap imitation."

Penhale sniffed too. "I don't smell anything. I think your imagination's playing tricks on you. This place does give off a strange vibe."

Martin looked around. The ground was relatively flat here, with few trees. No neighbouring houses were visible. There was a large field of sunflowers to the side of the house, perhaps 20 meters away, all the yellow and black flowers facing in their direction. Beyond that was a tall thin tower that appeared to made of slate bricks, as many buildings were in this part of the country. The tower was the only structure visible from the vantage point of the small hill where the cottage stood.

"It's funny, Doc," Penhale was saying. "This place being so isolated, it sorta makes me feel… funny."

"How do you mean, _funny?"_

"My hands are sweating. I can hardly breathe. I feel like I might be sick. It's like being out here just doesn't feel right. Maybe it's them sunflowers, it's like they're all… _looking_ at us."

Martin pondered this, then took Penhale's wrist to feel his pulse. "Hm. Rapid heartbeat. Have you experienced this sort of sudden onset of symptoms before in situations without any obvious reason to feel threatened?"

"Yeah, just once or twice. It started after that time I got kicked in the head by the horse, like I told you. The doc back in Bude said it was a something-phobia about being out in wide open spaces."

"Agoraphobia?"

"That's it."

"Didn't he prescribe medication or therapy?"

"No. It was always mild before and went away on its own. This is the worst I've ever felt." Penhale wiped his hands on his trousers and was starting to hyperventilate."

"Hm, idiot!" Martin said. "I mean your old GP, not, er… you. Here, lie down and take a long deep breath through your nose. Try counting to 10 as you inhale and then count to 12 as you exhale slowly through the mouth."

Penhale lay on his back on the grass. "I can't count and inhale at the same time, Doc."

"Count to yourself."

As he held Penhale's wrist to monitor his pulse, Martin had to admit to himself he too felt strangely uneasy in this isolated location. The masses of sunflowers with their round, blank faces did indeed give an unpleasant sensation they were being watched. He caught a whiff of the cheap butterscotch scent again.

Don't be ridiculous, you're being taken in by Penhale's delusion, and this hot, steamy weather is playing on both our nerves, he told himself.

"Your pulse rate is improving," he said to Penhale. "Continue the slow breathing. Nothing to fear here."

A faint buzzing sound suddenly erupted from behind the cottage.

"I'm feeling a bit better Doc, but now my ears are buzzing."

"It's not your ears," Martin said. "Someone must be using a string trimmer."

As he spoke the buzzing became louder and a peculiar flying object came whizzing around the side of the cottage following an erratic path. Penhale leapt to his feet and pointed.

"Look, up in the sky," he shouted. "It's absurd! It's insane!"

"It's a drone!" Martin exclaimed. "A big quadcopter."

"I was thinking of getting one of those, strictly for surveillance use of course."

"If you do, keep it away from the surgery. The noise is very irritating."

They watched curiously as the square, horizontal object with the whirling rotors at each corner darted about irrationally above their heads.

"It's like that movie where Cary Grant was waiting on a dusty road and the little plane came out of nowhere," Penhale said, fascinated.

The drone dropped in altitude and came to a shaky stasis hovering just above Martin's eye level, no more than three meters away.

"It's got a camera. It's looking at us," Penhale said.

"More like _someone_ is looking at us."

Martin glanced around, then up at the cottage. Someone had to be operating the buzzing machine from nearby.

"It's got something else attached underneath," Penhale said. "Something metallic. It looks like… like a… Doc, _it's a gun!_ "

Penhale lunged at Martin, tackling him to the ground as a deafening shot rang out and blasted a chip out of a rock right behind them both. Martin could smell the reek of burned gunpowder. They scrambled to their feet, heading toward the path to the police vehicle. The drone, momentarily thrown off course by the gun's recoil, swerved about crazily, obstructing the way. They turned in unison and headed for the nearest shelter – the sunflowers. Martin hadn't run so fast since his school days and, despite his shorter legs, Penhale matched his stride. Together they dove into the forest of tall stalks and burrowed deep within.

They came to a stop, hunkered down, gasping to catch their breath but trying not to create any movement that would give away their position. The flowers towered above them, some dark red ones mixed with the yellow ones, drawing in bees and small birds in to pick at the blossoms. This late in the season the rayed flowers were starting to dry up but it was as humid as a jungle amongst them and the bristly stalks and sandpapery leaves caught at their clothing. Martin suddenly recalled Aunt Joan had a patch of sunflowers on the farm many years ago, at summer's end he had run and hidden there once in a vain attempt to avoid having to go to the train station to return to school.

Sudden irrational thoughts popped into his head: the memory as a child being fascinated by the fact that a sunflower disk is actually made up of many tiny flowers whose pattern follows the Fibonacci mathematical sequence. Up close the big flower discs resembled not so much faces as thousands of dark, blank eyes; the tiny component flowers looked disturbingly like the compound eyes of insects. Large or small, all the eyes seemed to be searching for them.

 _Heat. Dread. Danger._ Unnerved, Martin forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

He stood up, his head popping up amongst the flowers. The drone was flitting about the edge of the field where they had entered the stalks, apparently not seeing him yet. At the other end of the field was the thin tower he was seen earlier. He recognized it as the chimney stack of an old tin mine, one of many that dotted the Cornish landscape. Beside it stood a small slate building, with a wooden door that looked to be ajar. He quickly ducked down again.

"We should head over this way," he whispered, unsure if the drone could hear anything or not. "It's a short run to a shelter. If we're lucky we can get a mobile signal there to call for help."

Penhale nodded and carefully they crawled through the stalks to the edge of the field. It looked about 20 meters to the door. They could hear the drone buzzing much closer now. Martin hoped it might be near the far end of its range. Penhale silently counted out one-two-three with his fingers, then they sprinted for the old mine. They couldn't both fit through the door together, so Martin unconsciously slowed to let the constable through first. As Martin ducked inside and turned to push against the heavy oak door, the drone zoomed down to look him right in the eye. The trigger clicked but it failed to fire. Penhale joined him to shove their full weight against the door but it hadn't been moved in some time. The door slowly started to scrape along the ground. As it slammed shut, they heard the drone bang against it and drop to the ground. There was a muffled noise outside as the rotors buzzed impotently in the dirt for a moment or two, then ground to a halt.

Either it had run out of battery power, Martin thought, or the operator was coming in person to retrieve it.

 _To be continued…_


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23: Panic Attack!

Tuesday Midday.

With the door closed, it was pitch black inside. Martin pulled out his mobile and checked for a signal. Penhale did the same. Nothing. Penhale checked his police radio, again nothing.

"We can't stay here, we have to get out before whoever that thing belongs to shows up," Martin said. He pulled on the door and found it wouldn't budge. After being exposed to the elements for so long the rusty iron hinges and heavy oak timbers seemed to have instantly sealed themselves into the rough door jamb. Penhale joined in and together they pulled and pulled, to no avail.

Penhale switched on his torch and put his phone away. "Brighter and saves the mobile battery power," he said. Martin grunted agreement and took out the little pen torch he always kept in his pocket.

"My brother and me used to explore old tin mines when we were kids, not that I condone trespassing in historic, dangerous spaces. This was an emergency situation that we faced," Penhale said. "Anyway, sometimes even small mines like this have shafts that lead to another way out." He swung the torch around to see what sort of space they were in. "Feels sort of cosy and safe, better than being all exposed out there."

"Hm." Martin wasn't sure he agreed with that.

"Haven't been in one of these in donkey's ears," Penhale said.

"You mean donkey's years."

"No, donkey's ears, Doc. Meaning time as long as a donkey's ears. A lot of years."

This exchange was giving Martin a headache. He began to think, with his office closed for another week and a half, it could in fact be a long time before anyone realized he was missing. Would Louisa even notice?

"Penhale, did you tell _anyone_ we were coming out here?"

"No. I check in with my district chief inspector every morning, but I didn't think of making the drive till after that."

"So your boss is not expecting you to check in until tomorrow morning, and no one knows we're here."

"Looks that way, Doc. Nobody knows but whoever sent that drone. Speaking of donkey's ears, we could be stuck here for a long time."

"Hm. Let's get a move on then. I'll follow you since you have some familiarity with this sort of place." Martin switched off his pen torch to save the battery.

They started off to explore. It soon became apparent as the main tunnel sloped steadily downward it lead through chambers so large so large they couldn't feel the sides even with arms stretched out, and passages so closed in Martin kept his head ducked, fearing he would scrape the top of his head along the roof. In places the tunnel diverged into two and they had to choose one path over another, only to meander to a dead end and have to turn back to try the other path. Gradually, they made their stumbling way along, Martin numbly following Penhale and his torch. While the policeman babbled on about himself and his brother when they were young, Martin mutely chose each step carefully for fear at any moment the solid floor could give way to a bottomless pit.

Finally, the tunnel began to slope steadily upward and they reached the far end, where they encountered another door.

This one seemed to open outward. Martin eagerly pushed against it but it too wouldn't budge. They checked their mobiles, still no signal. Penhale turned off the torch to save power and they sat on the cold ground in frustration to rest in the tomb-like darkness.

After a moment, Penhale spoke again. "That was a highly illegal modification of a hobby drone, not to mention the illegal possession of an unauthorized handgun. I read about something like that happening in the States, but you wouldn't expect it here. And why shoot at us anyway? We must be on the trail of _something_ that _somebody_ doesn't want us to find."

"I think you may be right," Martin replied. He was silent for a moment, as they both sat in the darkness. Then he had to say something that had been on his mind during their trek through the underworld.

"Er, Penhale… thank you for pushing me out of the way back there. You may have saved my life."

"No problem, just doing my duty," Penhale replied, sounding slightly embarrassed. "Whoever was piloting that drone wasn't steady enough to have good aim. And I was just returning the favour, Doc. Back there when I was having a panic attack you saved my life, in a manner of speaking. We really are Portwenn's Dynamic Duo."

For once, Martin didn't mentally dismiss that statement. They sat quietly again, and he began to wonder how long they had been there, cut off from the sunlit world outside. He couldn't tell if it was a half hour or a half day. He didn't dare check his mobile again for fear of draining the power. The darkness felt oppressive, like a physical weight bearing down on him. Don't be ridiculous, he told himself, but he couldn't help it.

Sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up with arms wrapped around and head hunched low, he felt like a small boy again trapped in the dusty dark cupboard under the stairs. He had taken refuge there once to escape his mother's wrath and when she found him she had laughed, in her cold, mirthless way, and deliberately shut him in, whether for half an hour or half a day, he had no way of knowing back then. And thereafter, whenever she was angry or just found him to be a nuisance underfoot she would drag him by the hand or the ear and boot him into that dark place, where spiders and unknown terrors lurked. Now he felt the same panic he felt then, very different from the fight or flight adrenaline response when he was confronted with the drone. Fleeing was an option then. There was no option now, no fight or flight, no escape. He began to feel the air in this place being used up with every breath. He could hear Penhale's breathing and it was like the policeman was using up the oxygen even faster.

"We're OK here for now, as long as there's no rats. Nasty things. We could go back the way we came and try that door again," Penhale was saying. "Maybe the drone pilot gave up shooting by now."

Or maybe the pilot came back with a shotgun, Martin thought.

"Good thing these mines had adequate ventilation shafts," Penhale continued. He clicked on his torch and aimed it up at the ceiling. "Hmm, don't see any here. Maybe they got closed up over the years. Could be a danger of radar or silly… silly…"

"Radon or silicosis," Martin said. "Don't be ridiculous. It would take years of exposure to a mine environment to cause any problems like that."

Nonetheless, Martin's discomfort began to grow and he loosened his tie and top button. He felt the symptoms coming on and could identify each one – rapid heart rate, rapid breathing, chest tightening, hands shaking – but he was powerless to stop them.

The words of the mental patient Jonathan came back to haunt him:

 _"_ _How 'bout you Doc? Do you ever feel helpless? Do you feel totally helpless, a little helpless, not helpless at all? Choose from the following statements the one which most applies to you…"_

 _Helpless. Trapped. Abandoned._

Penhale started to say something else and stopped, shining his torch at Martin. "Doc, you're breathing a bit fast, you don't sound so good."

"It's just a bit of… of…" Martin was ashamed to say it. "Erm, claustrophobia."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Doc. You know what to do, you helped me out there. Deep breaths, count to 10, exhale slowly. You know the drill. We really do make a good team. You're good in the great outdoors, me in charge in the great indoors."

Gawd, Martin thought, I've _got_ to get out of here!

He pulled himself to his feet, and threw himself against the door again, and again, then felt it finally begin to push outward. A bright vertical edge of sunlight appeared along the jamb. Penhale joined in and the two of them were able to push it enough to see the door was held fast by a hasp secured with a padlock. The U-shaped shackle was long enough to allow some play in the door, and Martin squeezed his right hand out to explore it.

"Bloody hell!" Penhale exclaimed. "We're buggered!"

"Hm. Not necessarily."

Martin felt in his jacket pocket and came out with the tiny screwdriver he had been using on the clock that morning. He squeezed his hand out again and awkwardly felt around till he had the lock braced against the door, then he inserted the fine tip of the screwdriver into the slot and began carefully manipulating it. The task was made more difficult by the fact that he couldn't see what he was doing or fit his left hand out to hold the lock in place as he worked on it.

"You're picking the lock. You've got hidden talents." Penhale sounded quite impressed. "I'm mechanically illiterate myself."

It was really nothing, Martin thought. Compared to the skill needed to repair an abdominal aortic aneurysm or reshape the cogs of a fine antique clock, picking a cheap padlock with a basic modular locking mechanism was elementary. Still, he focused on this simple task as if his life depended on it. All his skill in the surgical theatre or the horological workshop was for naught if he couldn't… manage to… shift the tumblers into position to… _aha!_ He felt the tumblers click and the shackle sprang loose. He slipped it through the hasp and the door was open.

"You'd make a great master criminal, Doc."

Martin burst through and out into the light, as Penhale yelled behind him, "Not that I condone that sort of activity!"

 _Free!_ Martin ran down the slight hill, even faster than he had fled from the drone, leaving Penhale far behind, blindly heading toward a patch of golden vegetation. He half dove, half tripped head first into the flowers, and lay there prone, struggling to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. He slowly turned over onto his back and dreamily looked up at the yellow and black flowers. They were known as black-eyed susans, he recalled. They were curiously like miniature sunflowers but unlike their giant cousins they seemed to look down on him lying in their midst with nothing but friendly curiosity in their warm brown eyes. He felt like Gulliver among the Lilliputians, though not imprisoned by them but happily, joyfully free and welcome. And appropriately enough Gulliver was a surgeon, if he remembered correctly, smiling slightly at his fanciful thoughts. This was like his days as a boy, allowed to run free on his aunt's farm and enjoy some rare moments of whimsy and playfulness in his otherwise constrained childhood. He closed his eyes and simply enjoyed for a moment the warm sunlight and the sweet fresh air.

A shadow fell over him. He opened his eyes to see a figure standing above, blocking the light. "Excuse me," said a stern feminine voice. "What do you think you're doing? You've trampled down our _rudbeckia hirta_ patch and it looks like you and your friend were trespassing in our historic tin mine."

Martin stood up and attempted to brush the pollen and dirt off his suit, embarrassed to have been caught lounging in a garden thinking silly thoughts. He did up his top button, tightened his tie, and drew himself up to regain some semblance of dignity. He looked around to see two large plastic geodesic domes some distance behind the woman.

"Er… sorry. I can pay for any damage. Where exactly is this place?"

The woman, who wore a sun hat and gardening gloves, looked at him. "This is the Nature Project," she said, in a tone of mixed stern authority and bemusement at his eccentric appearance. "You know, the environmental education botanical garden? Those are the greenhouse biomes there, for our tropical and Mediterranean plants. So what are you doing here in our temperate zone garden?"

"Erm… it's quite a story."

"Do I need to call the police?"

Martin looked up the hill where Penhale appeared to have lain down to practice his agoraphobia breathing exercises again. He sighed. "Yes, please do."

 _To be continued…_

Note: I based The Nature Project loosely on the real life Eden Project, a popular attraction in Cornwall.

"Donkey's ears" versus "donkey's years," this expression could work either way but I think Martin's version is correct.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Aftermath

Tuesday Afternoon.

It took over an hour for the police to arrive. Once Penhale recovered from his latest agoraphobic panic attack, he occupied himself wandering through the greenhouses and gawking at the plants. Martin spent the time hoping to get some insight on the use of oleander as an herbal medicine from the woman who found him amongst the black-eyed susans, but she only prattled on about the habitat and range of _Nerium oleander_ and scoffed at the idea that anyone would intentionally swallow any part of such a toxic plant.

Finally, Penhale's superior, Chief Inspector Chris Jackson, arrived from Delabole with two sergeants as backup. One sergeant was taller and paler, the other shorter and darker, but otherwise they seemed interchangeable in their enthusiasm for their boss's orders and things in general.

"Twenty seven minutes late, pickup hauling live chickens overturned on the B Road in Pendogget," the shorter one said.

Martin recognized them as the team that had taken charge of the scene at the cliffs to apprehend Louisa's father and the mentally ill Jonathan a few weeks ago. Jackson was a blunt, pugnacious man who seemed bemused by the unusual situations the GP from Portwenn was encountering.

"Trouble seems to follow you about, Dr. Ellingham," he said, with a smirk. "You'll be happy to know Jonathan Glazer is being examined at Broadmoor, could be detained in hospital indefinitely."

"Hm. My aunt might be involved in the case, she's a psychiatrist there. Any word on, er… Terry Glasson?"

"Mr. Glasson wisely chose to plead guilty to all charges, he'll likely go away for a few years. Old tossers like him, with a rap sheet a mile long, usually lawyer up and try to weasel their way out of doing any time but he told the judge he wanted to own up to the harm he'd caused his daughter. Said he wanted to ' _spare 'er any more heartache_.'" The chief inspector said that last bit with a sarcastic imitation of Glasson's Cockney accent, then laughed in a loud, blustering manner. "Sounds like an attempt to curry sympathy for when it comes time for his sentencing, if you ask me."

"Indeed." Martin kept his thoughts about Terry Glasson's sincerity to himself.

Jackson and his men took statements and then drove Martin and Penhale back to the cottage to investigate. Martin pointed out that the window where he had seen the curtain move was now shut. The footprints he had seen appeared to have been obliterated by someone kicking dirt over them. The policemen walked about, retracing the incident all the way through the sunflower field and out to the tin mine entrance. Martin was gratified to see the drone still lay on the ground where it had smashed against the heavy door.

Jackson put on latex gloves and examined the gun attached to the drone. "Well, well, a Colt .45, looks like a vintage World War II model. Let's get this bagged as evidence boys and we'll have it dusted it for prints. I think that just about wraps it up here. Just one more thing. P.C. Penhale!"

"Sir!" The constable eagerly snapped to attention.

"You came out here to question someone about what amounts to a stomach bug making the rounds. You didn't notify anyone in command about your intentions and you ended up endangering a civilian in the process."

"Sir, there is a common denominator with the housekeeper…" Penhale protested, but Jackson cut him off. "Nonsense, it's the same old lurgy that spreads like wildfire every so often. You went off on a wild goose chase and ended up getting chased by a drone. I didn't get where I am today by going off on a wild goose chase and ending up getting chased by a drone."

"No sir." Penhale seemed chastened.

Martin felt an unaccountable urge to speak up for the hapless constable. "It _is_ suspicious that someone attacked us when we got here."

"Now, now, don't defend him, Dr. Ellingham. This was a strange incident but there's some real eccentrics that live out here on the moor, the isolation drives them Bodmin. We'll get to the bottom of this one way or another. In the meantime, seeing as you're here Doctor, can you take a look at this?" The chief inspector took off his hat and tilted his head forward, so Martin could see a pea-sized red bump on the back of his neck, just below the man's fringe of hair.

"It's a boil," Martin said, irritated that the man had dismissed his concerns. "Apply a warm moist compress to it twice a day, then keep it clean once it begins to drain. Be sure to wash your hands thoroughly after touching the area. It should clear up on its own within a few days. If it doesn't go see your GP in Delabole to drain it and you may need an antibiotic."

Jackson straightened up and put his hat back on. "Our GP closed his office for a fortnight. Dr. Cadbury in Port Liac is supposed to be the locum in his absence but Cadbury's apparently gone barking mad. Turned out he was dressing in drag and leaving poison pen notes encased in jellies around the village. Had to be sectioned, poor bugger."

"Hm." Martin didn't care about the gossip from some other eccentric village but there was something that caught his interest. "You say your own GP closed his office for a fortnight?"

"Yeah, the old tosser had to attend some further education course in Newquay."

"I expect your doctor will be re-opening his surgery early, if he hasn't done so already. I have reason to believe the, um… two week course may have been cancelled."

"Good to know, Dr. Ellingham." Jackson nodded and walked him out to Penhale's police vehicle, where the constable was waiting to drive back home.

"P.C. Penhale," Jackson barked. "You've got this big event coming up Friday night in Portwenn, the masked ball. You will of course be watching out for drunken revellers getting out of hand."

"Yes sir!" Penhale perked up at the call of duty. "I will be attending undercover, and I will be vigilant and call for backup at the first sign of trouble."

"Easy, constable," Jackson cautioned. "Don't be too eager to spoil a good time. I didn't get where I am today by being too eager to spoil a good time. Portwenn is damn lucky to have produced a local hero like Jago Powell, who doesn't let fame and fortune go to his head."

The two sergeants nodded. "Yeah, and he does all that charity work, for orphans and diseases and such," one of them said. "Great!"

"He's a fine fellow all right, sir. Me and my brother Sam were at school with him," Penhale replied.

"And that Wynnie Barlow, quite the stunner eh? Super!" the other sergeant said. They all laughed. Martin glanced impatiently at his watch, although he had no appointments to attend to.

"Mrs. Jackson and I tried to get tickets to the ball but Portwenn residents got first dibs, only a few lucky tossers outside the village were able to snag any," Jackson said. "Looks to be fine weather that night. There's a big storm brewing out in the Atlantic, but likely it won't get here till Saturday. What about you Dr. Ellingham, are you going to the ball?"

Martin grunted in disdain. "Idiotic revellers, sporting ridiculous costumes, loosening their inhibitions through alcohol and the imagined anonymity of masks. No." He got in the police vehicle and pointedly looked at his watch again. Penhale took the hint and got in to drive back to Portwenn.

When Martin finally got home, it was evening. He lingered on the stone terrace and paused to enjoy the quiet. He noticed the nightingale that had been chirping away at this time of evening for the past few weeks was gone. He was surprised to realize he missed the melodious song. Oh well, it was worth the price if the ultrasonic bird repellent sound system had solved the Gullzilla problem. Slowly he raised his eyes up to the crest of the slate roof, only to see the dreaded gull perched there glaring down at him. He darted into the house and slammed the front door.

 _To be continued…_

Note: I was just having a little fun referring to some of the characters from _Reggie Perrin_ and the original _Doc Martin: The Movie_ here.


	25. Chapter 25

Previously on _Doc Martin: The Movie:_ Martin has some time on his hands after closing the surgery for two weeks so he could attend the two week course which ended up being cancelled. He and Penhale were attempting to investigate some cases of suspected poisoning but ended up being attacked by a mysterious drone. At the same time famed movie actor Jago Powell is planning a masked ball for the village and Louisa is his special invited guest. Pauline and Al have decided to skip the ball to have a quiet date night.

Chapter 25: Getting Ready for the Ball

Friday

For the next few days Martin just wanted to enjoy some peace and quiet but he couldn't help but notice there seemed to be an increase in vans coming into the village, making deliveries and blocking traffic. The Village Hall was being decorated with fairy lights and a large marquee tent was being erected beside the Platt. It was all most inconvenient.

Suddenly it was all anyone could talk about. The landlord of the Crab and Lobster was more interested in how he was going to fill the enormous beer and cider order for the big night than in monitoring his diabetes. The baker, the florist, and the musician fellow who played in the local pub band were more interested in talking about their contributions to the ball than in telling him the symptoms of their various ailments.

Bert Large was sulking that he couldn't somehow get in on the action, though preparations for the ball did not seem to require the talents of a plumber. Even the roving girl pack were more preoccupied in gossiping about the festivities than in mocking Martin as they passed in the street, though they were too young to attend the ball. As annoying as it was, Martin reasoned that the fascination with the upcoming event had apparently suppressed word of his and Penhale's bizarre adventure at the cottage and in the mine from getting around.

On the morning of the big day, Martin set out to get his shopping done early, before the crowds started to take over the village centre. He went to the fishmonger to get something for dinner.

"Haddock looks good today, Doc," said the fishmonger.

The man was always too forward, Martin thought, but he conceded the haddock did indeed look good. He decided on a single fillet and the man began to wrap it up for him.

"So you excited about the big do tonight?" the fishmonger went on. "I hear Jago Powell's going all out. There's gonna be traditional Cornish music to start, a rock band, and then waltzes for the midnight hour. Dancing to suit every taste. Fireworks at midnight too."

Martin didn't respond, but the man prattled on anyway. "Got your costume all sorted? The wife's been working on ours for days now, got the sewing machine going non-stop. They're looking pretty impressive if I don't mind saying. I know it's supposed to be a secret, with the masks and all, but…" He leaned forward and stage whispered dramatically. "We're going as Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Don't need to tell you which is which, eh?"

Martin took the wrapped parcel from the man with a grunt and handed over his money.

"Oh hey, Miss Glasson!" the fishmonger shouted over Martin's shoulder. "Nice to see you back home, in time for the big night."

Martin whirled around. "Louisa!"

"Martin!"

He pondered the tone of her voice, it was so hard to tell sometimes what she was thinking. She sounded surprised to see him, but genuinely happy. Her hazel green eyes had a soft look, almost tearing up. The memory of how they had argued at their last meeting brought a hot sting to his own eyes. He hadn't had the nerve to seek her out in the last few days but had hoped to run into her. Now that he had, he wanted so much to apologize to her but he wasn't sure how or even for what.

They both stood there in the shop doorway, looking at each other, each waiting for the other to say something.

Martin ducked his head and managed to come out with some words. "Er, how is your father doing?"

She smiled shyly and looked down, slightly embarrassed. "He's fine. I'm mean he's doing as well as can be expected… under the circumstances."

"I'm sure it's not easy for you… under the circumstances."

Martin thought she wanted to tell him something. He wanted to move toward her, take her in his arms and confide in her every terrible thing that had happened to him lately. Most of all he wanted to tell her how much he had missed her and how sorry he was that they had argued on being reunited, but he was paralyzed to make the first move. Besides, the annoying fishmonger was grinning at them, obviously keen to pick up any bits of gossip about the notorious Terry Glasson, or at least about the local GP and the head teacher.

Martin gently took Louisa by the arm and moved them both away from the man.

"Er, about the other day, at Wenn Hall. I wasn't expecting to see you there, it was… a surprise."

"A pleasant surprise, I hope," she teased him gently. "You know, I really was happy to see _you_ there, but it was, as you said, a surprise."

Martin felt encouraged. "Would you, perhaps, like to join me for dinner tonight?" He held up the wrapped parcel. "I could easily get more haddock. It looks quite good today. Or we could go out, if you prefer."

She was definitely smiling now. "I would love to, Martin, but not tonight silly. The masked ball is tonight. Jago gave me his personal invitation."

Martin felt himself tensing up again at the mention of the actor.

Louisa went on excitedly. "I made a ball gown back when I was in school, it's midnight blue velvet with gold trim. I played Cinderella in the school musical, and can you believe it, the gown still fits. I can't wait to wear it again. And I was hoping…" She looked down again and smiled shyly. "I know you don't enjoy dancing and crowds and, well, _fun_ , but I thought maybe you might be interested in accompanying me. It's the biggest event in Portwenn since… _ever_."

Martin shook his head. "I just don't do costumes and masks and that all nonsense. Louisa, I wish you could have given me some notice when you were coming back. We could be spending time together, going over everything that's happened, instead of talking about this silly event."

"Well, I think it's fantastic what Jago's doing for the village," Louisa was beginning to sound defensive. "He's really very humble, considering how famous he is now. You know, he was recently granted an OBE."

"I don't care if he's been crowned the bloody Duchess of Cornwall! I'm sick of this actor and this movie and this ridiculous ball being the only thing the idiots of Portwenn can talk about!" He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it was out of his mouth.

"Oh Martin, you are just so… _exasperating!_ "

She strode away, ponytail waving furiously. Martin watched her go in frustration. I never even got to tell her I judged the bloody pig contest like she wanted, he thought.

The fishmonger, watching through the open shop door, caught his eye and grinned again. "Duchess of Cornwall doesn't wear a crown, Doc!" he shouted.

Martin sneered and turned away.

He went home and tried to take his mind off the situation by giving the surgery office a thorough cleaning, then throwing himself into preparing the haddock. After dinner and washing up, he made himself a cup of tea and cautiously stepped out onto the stone terrace for a breath of the evening air. The blasted gull seemed to have disappeared, at least for now. He could hear the faint sounds of fiddle and accordion music coming from the big tent on the Platt. Night was falling but in the distance he could see low dark clouds far out over the ocean, scudding across the sky from the southwest. The air felt heavy and oppressively warm but moody, fitful gusts of wind were beginning to whip up the waves coming into the harbour.

Martin went back inside and laid out on the office desk his horology tools, including the newly re-sharpened tiny screwdriver he had used to pick the padlock. A thumping bass line started up, apparently the rock band had taken the stage at the ball. The sound echoed off the surrounding hills including the one on which his cottage sat. He got up and slammed the window shut, mostly muting the noise. He took out the mahogany Regency-style mantel clock.

He opened the back of the clock and made an adjustment to test the mechanism. The Westminster chimes sweetly sounded, like a miniature Big Ben. He looked at the lovely, delicately carved case and thought about how if he could get it working he had planned to give it as a gift to Louisa. He sighed, and wondered if he would ever get the chance. Perhaps he was wrong to have turned down her invitation to the ball. The thought of donning some ridiculous get-up and mingling with the masses in the large tent caused him to scowl, but so did the thought of Louisa cavorting on the dance floor with that actor Powell. The Portwenn Players Ball of the previous year had been ample demonstration of the kind of debauchery the village idiots could get up to with a bit of alcohol and music. Still, he couldn't very well go down there now, not after arguing with Louisa about it. He focused his attention to the task at hand, fixing the little clock. Long experience had taught him work was the best method of distracting one's mind from dwelling on unpleasant realities.

The office phone rang and he ignored it. The answer phone came on with Pauline's rhyming message that he kept meaning to replace. Then Penhale's voice was heard, with party noise in the background. "Doc? Doc? If you're there, pick up."

He picked up. "Penhale. The music is far too loud. Tell them to turn it off."

"No can do, Doc. The party's in full swing. But we need you down here. There's a situation."

"What sort of situation? Is it a genuine medical emergency? Is Louisa all right?"

"Can't really explain over the phone. You have to get down here to see it. But I can tell you this, I suspect our _poisoner_ may have struck again."

Alarmed, Martin slammed down the phone, grabbed his medical bag, and ran out the door.

 _To be continued…_


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Reception Chickie and Plumber Boy Out On a Date

Friday Night

Pauline put on her favourite dress, the orange sleeveless one, and the beige cardigan with the maroon and brown floral pattern, and finally the new pair of chestnut brown satin kitten heel court shoes she had saved up to buy. She added some amber earrings and a necklace, and a bit of makeup, and admired herself in the mirror. Mum was away at the masked ball, so there was no one to say the dress made her bum look big, or the colour was all wrong for her, or the shoes would give her bunions. Pauline knew she looked good and that made her happy.

She was even happier when Al arrived and she saw he had actually put on a nice shirt and tie for their date, and she didn't even mind that he picked her up in the Large & Son plumber's van.

They drove to Wadebridge, where they had an early dinner at an Italian restaurant. Pauline very much enjoyed the pasta and marina that clearly did not come from a jar. Then they went to the movies for a later showing of "The Soviet House." When Jago Powell, as a cynical British bookseller recruited to be a spy, kissed the actress playing the idealistic Russian publisher, Pauline felt Al put his arm around her shoulder and gently pull her in to rest her head against him. She felt warm and safe with him.

Afterward, they headed back to Portwenn and stopped at the Wilson Hotel above the village for a few drinks. The wind was picking up outside. In the bar they were seated by the picture window overlooking the ocean. Gusts of wind were whipping up the waves coming into the harbour but their crashing rhythm was distant enough to be just a pleasant background sound. There was soft candlelight at their table, a pianist was playing romantic music. They practically had the place to themselves, since most people in the village were at the ball. She had a glass of chardonnay while he had a pint of stout. They could see tiny silent strikes of lightning out to sea, too far away to hear the distant rolling thunder that followed.

Pauline felt it was the perfect end to a perfect date. She couldn't even get annoyed when the proprietor Carrie Wilson came over to their table playing at being the gracious hostess checking up that all the patrons were happy and then shamelessly flirting with Al.

Al scoffed at Mrs. Wilson's attention. "Don't be jealous. I hear her husband's been keepin' company with a woman in Camelford. They're headed for divorce and she's just lookin' to boost her ego, flirtin' with a younger man."

"I don't care about her." Pauline smiled.

"If anything, I should be jealous of Jago Powell," Al said. "All the women seem to be in love with him."

"Well, he's a dreamboat all right, but he's got nothing on you Al Large. I can't wait to see you up on the silver screen, bigger than life, when your movie debut comes out. You'll look just as dreamy as him."

She giggled at the thought and he smiled. By now they were holding hands over the table and she had slipped off one chestnut brown satin kitten heel and was caressing his leg under the table.

"So, here I am, out on a real date, with a real movie star. You know, we've been going out for a few months now. It's been awkward, what with me living with my mum and you with your dad. I was just thinking, since we're here at the hotel, maybe it's time we… what do you think about…"

"What do I think about, maybe, gettin' a room upstairs?"

"You read my mind," she said. She smiled again, thinking of the condoms she had bought that morning and discreetly stashed in her purse, along with a toothbrush, all concealed from her mother's prying eyes.

They leaned over the table for a lingering kiss. The piano player hit one final chord and then he was done for the night.

"It's pretty late," Al said "I hope they have something nice left. Let me go see if Mrs. Wilson can accommodate us, _if_ I can keep her hands off me." Pauline laughed, an easy relaxed laugh.

Al stood up to find the hostess and something caught his eye. Pauline turned to look too. Among the few other patrons in the lounge, there was Mr. Wenn seated at another table with his new younger wife whom Pauline recognized from the surgery. Al went over to them.

"Hey, don't I know you?" he said.

 _To be continued…_


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27: At The Ball

Friday Night

Martin fairly ran down the hill, hardly daring to think that Louisa might be in danger. He got to the entrance of the big tent, which was vibrating with music and had coloured fairy lights strung along the edges. He was stopped by a burly fisherman apparently doubling as doorman for the night, guarding the entrance behind him.

"No entry without a ticket, Doc."

"I've been called in on a medical matter. P.C. Penhale said there was an emergency."

"Emergency? You sure, Doc?" The burly man squinted, confused. "Everybody seems to be havin' a grand old time. The party's just hittin' its stride."

"Penhale said there was a possible poisoning."

"Poisonin'?!" The man scratched his head. "Well all right then, but you do have to wear a mask to enter."

"What? Like a surgical mask?"

"A face-hidin' mask. Mr. Powell's orders. You don't have to wear fancy dress but no one admitted without a mask. It adds to the intrigue and then there's a big unmaskin' at the stroke of midnight."

"Don't be ridiculous. This may or may not be a life-or-death situation."

"You don't seem very sure."

Martin huffed. "In any case, I don't have a mask."

"Here you go, Doc. Your choice." The doorman held up in one hand a gold-sequined full face mask with purple feathers sprouting from the top and in the other a plain black eye mask. Martin grunted and grabbed the black one. He pulled it down over his close cropped hair and adjusted it so he could see.

"Nice choice." The doorman grinned. "Goes great with the dark suit."

"Where can I find Penhale?"

"Probably hovering around the desserts table, if I know him."

Martin expected to feel silly with his face concealed but instead he felt strangely comforted by the sense of anonymity it conferred. He pushed past the doorman and into the tent.

 _Sensory Overload._ The entrance was like a portal to another world. The interior was bigger than he expected, almost as if the tent was bigger on the inside than the outside, absurd as that seemed. There were fairy lights across the ceiling, a mirror ball hanging over the dance floor, and strobe lights intermittently flashing so brightly he feared they might trigger a seizure in someone susceptible. The thumping bass line from the band was amplified so he could feel it throughout his body. The night air felt even heavier here with the humidity of many bodies inside an enclosed space. The mingled scents of perfumes and the sweat of people dancing and grinding up against each other created a miasma that was almost painful to breathe in. He felt hot and cold at the same time and miserably ill at ease. The inhabitants of Portwenn normally seemed like alien creatures to him and here they were dressed in fashions that made them seem even more alien.

Martin stopped to take a deep breath and steady his nerves, then he plunged in amid the chaos, pushing tables and chairs aside, striding across the dance floor, gyrating masked and costumed dancers darting out of his way as he followed a straight line toward his objective, oblivious of any obstacles.

He headed for the refreshments table at the back of the tent. There was a man there dressed in black, with cape and boots, a cowl covering half his face, and some sort of yellow belt. Martin realized he could recognize Joe Penhale by the outline of his body and the way he moved, despite the silly costume. He glanced around and recognized a number of other people, as strange as they all looked. As long as their costumes didn't distort or conceal too much he could tell their identities almost as well as seeing their faces. Not that he remembered all their names of course, but he could see that the man dressed like a ninja was the farmer with sciatica, the woman in the Alice in Wonderland pinafore the ninja was dancing with was the postmistress with psoriasis, the woman in the ill-fitting hula girl costume was Pauline's mother, and so on.

Martin approached Penhale, who didn't recognize him until Martin barked at him. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency!"

"Doc, your mask is perfect!" Penhale sounded delighted. "You could be Robin, but you have to get the rest of the costume together. Then we really could be the Dynamic Duo!"

"Robin?"

"Sidekick to Batman." Penhale grinned broadly. "You do know who Batman is, right?"

"Of course I do. I was a child once. What's going on here?"

"Not exactly sure, Doc. I think someone may have spiked the punch."

"Hm. Have you tasted it?"

"Course not. I'm on duty."

"You're on duty dressed as Batman?"

Penhale backtracked. "Not officially on duty as such. Just undercover, keeping an eye on things like the chief inspector said to do. But look around you, Doc. We're in danger of a riot breaking out."

Martin took a second look around him. There was Bert Large costumed as Elvis; Chippy Miller with a long beard and Neptune's trident; Roger Fenn in a Mozart frock coat and wig; and Mrs. Tishell in a frilly dress with black stockings, a plumed hat, and a feather boa draped around her best black neck brace. She swished her skirts as she walked and to Martin's dismay he realized she was attired as a can-can dancer. Next to her was an unfamiliar woman dressed as Cleopatra dancing with a blackbearded pirate, and next to them a geisha was dancing with a man in white robes who was waving some sort of plastic sword that lit up like a blue laser. Really the whole spectacle was straining the limits of Martin's familiarity with popular culture.

All the costumed revellers were writhing up against each other in a most unbecoming manner that made what he remembered of the Portwenn Players Ball seem tame. He suddenly felt even more anxious than he had on entering this strange environment.

He glanced around again but saw no sign of Louisa or Jago Powell amid the boisterous crowd. He did notice people coming up to the refreshments table, eagerly scooping up cups of a frothy ruby red punch from a large crystal bowl, stumbling around and almost elbowing each other aside.

"What's in this?" he asked Penhale.

"Dunno. I suppose lemonade, a bit of fruit juice, some rum or champagne. The usual, supposed to be only mildly alcoholic, but I suspect someone dumped a flask of something harder or worse in there. That's why I called you."

Martin went up to the crystal bowl and ladled out a half cup. He sniffed it. Fruity and sugary sweet, but with a whiff of something harsher, something faintly like… petrol perhaps? Not quite, but definitely something odd. He hesitated, then dipped one finger in and tasted it. A burning sensation began at his tongue and ran down his throat. His hands felt warm and a tingling began in his ankles, slowing creeping up his legs.

Vile liquid. Yet all around him people seemed desperate for it, some not even bothering to use the ladle but dipping their cups right into the punch bowl. He shuddered in revulsion at the unsanitary practice. Yes, the drink was vile, and yet… somehow, not entirely unpleasant.

"Go on, Doc Martin," said a familiar voice. "Drink up."

 _To be continued…_


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28: Chimes at Midnight

Friday Night

In the lounge at the Wilson Hotel, Al looked curiously at the young woman sitting with Mr. Wenn.

"Hey, don't I know you? Port Carran School, right?" Al said.

"I don't think so," the young woman said.

"What are you talking about? My wife is from London," Mr. Wenn said.

"Right, I remember you," Al said. "Loveday Smith. Your family moved here from London. You were at school with me, when me and my Dad were living in Port Carran for a while. We were snoggin' behind the stands at a football match that one time. Your family moved away again after that."

When Pauline heard Al say "snoggin'" she had to go over to investigate in person.

"My wife had never been to Cornwall before we met in London," Mr. Wenn said, but he didn't sound so certain now. "Isn't that right, darling?"

"Um, I may have been here visiting my gran for a term," the young woman said. Pauline thought she was starting to look a bit panicky.

"That's right," Al said. "Your parents were gettin' a divorce and you were here stayin' with your grandmother to get away from them fightin' all the time."

Mr. Wenn looked at his wife sceptically. "But I remember, you said you had never been to Cornwall."

"You must have misunderstood, darling. What I said was, um, I had never been to Portwenn."

Al prattled on, oblivious to the brewing marital disharmony Pauline could plainly see he was causing.

"Nah, you must have been here. You used to talk about Wenn Hall all the time, I remember. You went on a tour there and you kept sayin' how it was your dream house and you would do anything to live there someday. You had a postcard of it that you taped up in your locker. And now here you are married to Mr. Wenn. Funny how it all worked out."

Pauline, echoed him weakly. "Yeah, funny."

Mr. Wenn looked stunned. Out in the hotel lobby, a clock began to ring the well known Westminster chimes. Pauline attempted to lighten the mood. "Well, I'm surprised you two aren't attending the big ball tonight."

"Not much for crowds nowadays," Mr. Wenn replied, weakly. "My first wife Rachel loved these big splashy events, but I'm not one for festivities since she passed on. So we're staying far from the madding crowd, as it were."

There was an awkward pause. The clock began to chime midnight. Just as the last chime was about to sound, and Pauline opened her mouth to say they had to be going, a bright light shot up outside on the water and a loud boom sounded.

"Must be lightning," Mr. Wenn muttered.

"I reckon they're settin' off the fireworks. You'd think they cancel, with the storm comin' in," Al said.

"No," Pauline said, suddenly recognizing the sound. "That's the Lifeboat signal."

 _To be continued…_


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29: Tamango!

Friday Night

"Go on, Doc Martin," said a familiar voice. "Drink up."

A woman had appeared at his side. Long blonde hair cascaded down her back. She was clad in just a bikini top adorned with strategically positioned oversized scallop shells, and a long figure hugging skirt of some shimmering green material that suggested a fishtail. Bright blue eyes peered at him from an emerald green mask. She smiled at him predatorily.

"I knew it was you. I'm not fooled by masks. You wear that bespoke suit like armour and you have a distinctive way of carryin' yourself, Dr. Ellingham." She looked at the cup in his hand and smiled a crooked, sneering smile. "It's good, isn't it? It's best if you toss it down in one shot."

The woman seemed so familiar but he couldn't place her, distracted as he suddenly was by noticing the mostly bare expanse of skin from her shoulders down to her hips was dusted with glitter that enhanced her curves most appealingly. The warmth from the drink spread to his elbows and the tingling sensation had reached his knees, making them feel wobbly.

"You're responsible for all this, aren't you," he said, still unable to guess her identity.

"It's my own recipe. Years ago I worked in a bar in Turin that was famous for a drink called tamango. It has a reputation for inducin' hallucinations, but that's a myth. It merely causes feelings of euphoria and a desire to dance in those who dare try it. It's a blend of tamarind and mango with a mix of some African plants and roots. The recipe's a closely guarded secret but I got the son of the bar owner to spill the beans and I've been experimentin' with a few variations on it ever since. My own secret…"

She leaned in closer to him, her voice low and husky.

"…is a rare hybrid of valerian that only grows in Cornwall. Legend says an elixir of Cornish valerian was the potion that caused Tristan and Isolde to fall hopelessly in love. I've come up with a modern version of it, a genuine love potion that could make me a fortune. This is my first big test of it, and this is the perfect place for a test, people wearin' masks have their defences lowered already. A real success, wouldn't you say?"

Martin looked around. The dancing was getting more lascivious, and a number of couples had retreated to darker corners of the tent. A few pairs of feet could even be seen poking out from under tables. However, some people were running out of steam and slumping down on tables or curling up on the dance floor. He looked back at the mermaid and it clicked.

"Ms. Mylow. You've slipped all these people an untested, experimental drug out of a desire to make money?"

"Money! Well, that's really just a trivial reason," she sneered. "The real reason for the test, well, you must have some notion, haven't you… _Martin_? I knew you'd never come to a party like this on your own. I got that fool of a constable to lure you down here. I reckoned you'd be worried your own object of affection would be caught up in all this."

Martin suppressed a feeling of panic. Had Mylow's sister poisoned Louisa? Distractingly, the warmth had reached his shoulders and the tingling had risen to his thighs. "My own object of affection?" he asked.

"The old hag from the chemist's. Sally Tishell. Don't know what you see in her."

"Mrs. Tishell?" Now Martin was really confused. "Don't be ridiculous."

"When I had my practice in the village she was always goin' on about how you two were soul mates."

Now it was Martin's turn to sneer. "I don't care what she said, there's absolutely _nothing_ between her and me."

"All the better then, innit," the mermaid said.

"All the better for what?"

She reached out and touched his tie, stroking the material as if enjoying the feel of the silk fabric. "To get to know you better, of course."

"Thirty seconds to midnight!" the band leader announced over the music.

Martin started to back away but she grasped the tie and pulled him closer to her, into the shadows, running her fingers through his close cropped hair. The warmth was rising through his neck and his head began to feel foggy. The tingling moving up his legs had reached a crucial spot and the situation began to overwhelm him.

"Your hair is so soft, nothing like your bristly personality," she crooned. "And look how those ears blush pink with embarrassment. We've had our differences haven't we, but that's what causes the sparks to fly. I know you feel it too. You with your conventional suits and conventional life and conventional medicine, you're the soul of uptight Englishness. I'm the free spirit of nature and wild Cornishness. We're yin and yang, the opposites that inevitably attract. I've been wantin' to unknot that tie, peel off that jacket, and strip away your defences since I first saw you. Go on, drink the tamango. And we'll _tango!"_

"Twenty seconds!"

"Everyone kisses at midnight, then the masks come off to reveal who's paired up with who," she said.

"Fifteen seconds!" The music stopped. The crowd began to part. More people were slumping down as if exhausted, but plenty were still on their feet and carrying on.

The band struck up an electric guitar version of the Westminster chimes. The dance floor was now clear right beneath the mirror ball except for two figures, clad in blue velvet with gold trim and bejewelled Venetian masks, like a prince and princess from a fairy tale.

The strobe light came on again, pulsing along with the electric guitar notes counting down the seconds and the crowd's chant: "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"

The fairy tale couple ignored the chanting. They had their arms about each other as if dancing a silent tango, glittering flecks of light raining down on them from the mirror ball. Under the power of the flashing strobe they no longer moved smoothly or continuously but in dramatic illuminated still frames. With each pulse, they were drawing closer to each other… closer.

"Five! Four!"

With a mighty effort, Martin pulled away from Sandra Mylow's embrace and went toward the couple, feeling as if he were swimming against a tide, powerless, but determined to stop their kiss somehow nonetheless.

"Three! Two!"

The crowd was poised to shout out the final stroke of midnight. Then the roar of a rocket cut them short. Martin knew that sound. The Lifeboat signal!

 _To be continued…_

Note: The tragic love story between the Cornish knight Tristan and the Irish princess Isolde is part of Cornish legend.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30: Cinderella at the Ball

Friday Night

When Louisa entered the ball it was like stepping into a fairy tale.

She had dug out her Cinderella dress from an attic trunk, and was thrilled to find the midnight blue velvet and gold trim were still in good shape, and even more thrilled to find the dress still fit. When she tried it on it brought her back to the nights when she had painstaking stitched the dress together on her grandmother's old foot-powered Singer sewing machine while memorizing her lines for the school musical. It wasn't Jago Powell she had played opposite, he and his mother had moved away the year before, but some forgettable boy from Wadebridge.

But now Jago was back and he was happy to be her Prince Charming. He had a costume designer whip up an outfit to match hers, and a pair of Venetian masks for both of them, and he had insisted on picking her up in his limousine for the ball, although she could have easily walked to the tent on the Platt from her cottage.

They arrived at the entrance fashionably late. They fixed their masks in place and together they entered the ball with a fanfare from the band as if a royal couple had arrived.

The inside was enormous, almost as if the tent was bigger on the inside than the outside, absurd as that seemed. There were colourful fairy lights around the edges, a mirror ball hanging over the dance floor. The music started out with a Cornish band and traditional dancing. Once the rock band took over strobe lights began intermittently flashing, lending drama to the dance floor.

The thumping rock bass line was amplified so she could feel it throughout her body. The night air felt sultry with so many people inside an enclosed space, and the mingled scents of perfumes and bouquets of flowers on the tables created an atmosphere that was almost intoxicating.

The inhabitants of Portwenn had transformed into fantasy versions of themselves. Louisa saw superheroes, pop stars, ninjas, hula girls, figures from history, myth, fantasy, and legend. She marvelled at their imagination and ingenuity. Costumed and masked, everyone was dancing and cavorting and having a marvellous time.

Jago made the rounds and greeted each guest, with her on his arm. In spite of their masks, everyone seemed to know who they were. Then they spent the evening dancing and chatting together. Louisa barely noticed as the hours wore on and the other couples were losing their inhibitions and getting more lascivious. She and her prince only had eyes for each other.

The night flew by and she was startled to hear "Thirty seconds to midnight!"

"Everyone kisses someone at midnight and then the masks come off so we see who ended up pairing off," Jago murmured in her ear. "Should be quite amusing to see what odd couples we've got here."

"Twenty seconds!"

"I don't care who else is here. I only care that I'm here with you," she replied.

"Fifteen seconds!" The music stopped but she and Jago kept moving together, as he hummed a tango. The dance floor was now clear right beneath the mirror ball, they had the magical space all to themselves with glittering flecks of light raining down on them.

The band struck up an electric guitar version of the Westminster chimes. The strobe light came on again, pulsing along with the crowd's chant: "Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"

The chanting seemed far removed from their magic space beneath the mirror ball. Under the power of the flashing strobe they no longer moved smoothly or continuously but in dramatic illuminated still frames. He led her in an open embrace, but with each pulse they drew closer… closer.

"Five! Four!"

Louisa held her breath as Jago pulled her in close.

"Three! Two!"

Suddenly the crowd parted and a large figure came toward them, a man in a dark suit, red tie, and a black eye mask. Louisa was startled. She knew that stiff, determined demeanour anywhere, even across a vast, crowded, dark room. "Martin!" she shouted, right at the stroke of midnight, but the roar of a rocket drowned her out.

Jago looked confused. "Why are they setting off the fireworks? I told them to cancel due to the weather."

"That's not a firework, it's the Lifeboat signal. There must be an emergency," she told him. The signal boom was followed by a second, and then a third. She turned to Martin. "Come on, let's see what's going on."

All three of them pushed their masks up and ran outside, as the crowd spilled out onto the Platt along with them. The wind was picking up and a fine mist was coming down, making all the splendid costumes limp and bedraggled. The villagers who were members of the Lifeboat crew ran over to the lifeboat station, pulling their masks off as they went. Jago dismissed the string quartet that had been about to come on the stage to play waltzes after the midnight countdown, then he took out his mobile to summon his driver.

Martin looked helplessly at Louisa.

"What, Martin?" she said. "I thought you were above these sorts of events and yet here you are, determined to ruin it for me anyway."

His pale blue-grey eyes opened wide. "I… I… just wanted to be sure you were all right, with the punch being adulterated and all. I was concerned about you."

"I don't know anything about the punch. Jago's on the wagon so I didn't have anything to drink tonight." She paused, still annoyed with him, wondering if he was going to say something caustic about Jago, but overall she was touched about his concern for her. She looked at him tenderly and was about to reply.

Then Batman burst out of the tent, pulling a protesting mermaid along with him. Louisa recognized them as Joe Penhale and Sandra Mylow.

"Doc, what's going on?" Penhale said.

Martin looked at Louisa. "I'm afraid I've got my hands full at the moment with a criminal matter and now there's a Lifeboat emergency." As he went over to Penhale the rain began to fall in earnest. Louisa spotted Jago's limo across the Platt, with the passenger door open and Jago gesturing for her to get in.

Once inside, Jago put a soft blanket around her shoulders as they drove away. The rain pattered against the moon roof, making Louisa feel cosy and safe in the luxury vehicle.

"Now I really feel like Cinderella, and I didn't even have to lose my shoe," she said. On an impulse, she leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss. He responded eagerly, without, she noted to herself, any reservations about her breath.

"We were interrupted at midnight, so I thought I would just get that out of the way," she said, sighing with contentment as she leaned back against the seat. "And I was so looking forward to dancing _The Blue Danube Waltz_ with you." She looked out the window. "It's such a beautiful night, isn't it."

"Well, except that it's raining," he replied, smiling. "Not exactly a night of romantic moonlight. And the Lifeboat emergency rather put a damper on things too. Let's go for a ride on the moor anyway."

He directed his driver, then he flicked a switch and the partition slide into place giving them privacy. Subtle recessed lighting and soft piano music filled the back seat. Louisa snuggled into his shoulder as they enjoyed the ride together.

"It's really wonderful of you to do this for the village," she said, after a moment.

"Yeah, well, people seemed to have a good time. And it was worth it just to see Dennis Dodds kissing up to me after all these years," he said.

Louisa was surprised at his cynical tone. She sat upright and looked at him. "Did you talk to Dennis there? What was his costume?"

"He came as Henry VIII. I knew it was him all right. He was dressed as a king but he was fawning all over Prince Charming, saying he's been my biggest fan, he always knew I would make it big, blah, blah, blah. Him and all those tossers back in school used to talk shit about me and call my mum a drug addict and worse."

"So did you really organize the ball as a thank you to the village or did you do it show off how rich you are now?"

"What do you think?" Jago scowled and drummed his fingers against the armrest. "This village is full of nasty, small-minded busybodies, and they probably said things about you and your mum and dad back then too."

She was furious. "Who's being small-minded now? Portwenn has been good to me ever since I was a girl. I can't believe you let the gossipers get to you. Most people change and mature after they leave school but I guess you haven't done."

"You saw how they acted when they had some free drinks in them back there. The place practically turned into an orgy. So much for changing and maturing. It's a wonder they even made it to midnight. What a quirky bunch these villagers are. Never seen anything quite like it, even in LA."

Louisa had to admit things had gotten out of hand back in the marquis tent. "Well, Martin did say something about the punch being adulterated. Someone must have put some hard alcohol in there and people got a bit more, um, _unsteady_ than they bargained on."

"More than a bit, downright pissed and legless I'd say. And that Martin fellow, he's quirkier than all of 'em put together. He seemed pretty intent on getting between you and me at the stroke of midnight."

"Don't tell me you're jealous of Martin!"

"Don't know what you see in _Doctor Strange_ anyway." Jago was positively sulking by now.

The mood was spoilt. "Take me home," she said in a tight voice. Jago gave the driver the order. They barely spoke to one another on the ride back.

As the limo dropped her off at her cottage and she unlocked the front door, Louisa wondered how it was, on what had been such a magical night, she had managed to alienate herself from both the men in her life.

 _To be continued…_

Note: "Pissed" and "legless" are British slang for drunk.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31: The _Moon Ray_

Saturday 12:01 a.m.

At the Wilson Hotel, the signal flare drowned out the last chime of the clock at midnight and shook the picture windows that overlooked the harbour. The signal flare was followed by another, and then a third, each one shooting up outside cutting through the darkness and deepening mist, and accompanied a split second later by a loud boom.

The few people left in the hotel bar ran to the windows, joined by Mrs. Wilson holding her tiny Yorkshire terrier in her arms. "Oh my, those Lifeboat signals are always so noisy. They disturb my little Princess Tinkle," she said. "Look at her shaking!"

"It's important though, someone's in trouble out there and they're summoning the emergency rescue crew," said Mrs. Wenn. She seemed relieved to have an opportunity to change the subject from Al's revelations about her past obsession with Wenn Hall.

"Someone must have run aground out there in the storm," Pauline said. "We should head down. I'm not a member of the Lifeboat crew any more but maybe I could lend a hand."

All thoughts of a romantic night at the hotel forgotten, Al hastily paid the bill and they took leave of the Wenns and the Wilson Hotel, driving in the plumber's van down the steep road to the Platt.

The ball attendees were spilling out onto the Platt, their splendid costumes looking bedraggled in the misty air. Pauline was amused to see Louisa Glasson dressed like a fairy tale princess, a fancy mask tucked up on her forehead, followed close on by Jago Powell in an equally impressive fairy tale prince costume. Then came the Doc in his usual full suit and tie, clutching his medical bag and with an eye mask dangling out of his breast pocket.

The Doc and Louisa seemed to be arguing about something, nothing unusual there, but then Batman burst out of the tent, pulling a protesting mermaid with him. Pauline recognized them as Penhale and, was that… yes it was! Sandra Mylow.

"Doc, what's going on?" Penhale said.

Martin looked at Louisa. "I'm afraid I've my hands full at the moment with a criminal matter and now there's a Lifeboat emergency." As the rain began to fall in earnest, Louisa walked away and got in the open door of a small black limousine across the Platt.

"Penhale, you need to arrest this woman for attempted poisoning," Martin barked, indicating Sandra.

"What's going on?" Al wondered aloud in all the commotion. "No time for that," Pauline replied, making her way through the crowd to the Lifeboat Station. Steve Baker, who was not in costume, was already unlocking the doors. He was clearly relishing the chance to go into action.

"It's the _Moon Ray_ , a yacht out of Barnstaple," Steve told the volunteer crew gathering around. "They radioed for help, they've run up against the cliffs outside the harbour with four crew and passengers aboard. It's hardly to be wondered at in this weather. It's difficult to find your way on the road, let alone on the water, and you can't always rely on GPS alone. They're listing and taking on water. The storm's moving in faster than expected, no time to lose getting out there."

Lifeboat Station Chairman Art Johnson, still costumed as King Arthur, went over to the Doc, who was talking heatedly with Penhale. "Never mind that, Dr. Ellingham. We need you to set up in the Village Hall in case there's injuries to deal with when the Lifeboat gets back."

Meanwhile, Steve was still full of bravado, leading the effort to pull the motorboat out of the garage. "Don't try and stop me, Art. No matter how bad the storm looks out there."

"I'm not stopping you," Art replied. "You need to get out there ASAP."

"The wind is picking up fast but we've got a duty to help no matter what," Steve declared. "I purposely skipped the ball so we'd have a skeleton crew ready and able to help in case something like this happened. And now it has!"

"My only concern is you having a full crew that hasn't been drinking," Art said.

Pauline stepped forward. "I'm ready to help. I've kept up with my first aid skills. We weren't at the ball and I've only had a bit of wine to drink."

"Now Pauline, you quit the crew and you have to be recertified and have your insurance up-to-date and all to go out with them," Art said.

Pauline was afraid he would say that. She turned to the Doc. "I'm trained in first aid, I could help out at your triage centre in the Village Hall."

"Er, that won't be necessary," he replied. "I'll have plenty of help with the certified emergency first responders here. You can… um, enjoy the rest of your work holiday."

Pauline could see his scepticism that she could be of any help at all. Reception Chickie, that's all people think I am, she thought. She sulked and stood aside as a crew of three took their positions in the motorboat and then raced out through the rain across the choppy harbour.

"It's not fair. I miss out on all the excitement," she protested, in vain.

"All right everyone, move along. Nothing to see here," Art declared.

The rain began to increase as the remaining costumed revellers scattered for their homes or vehicles. Pauline pulled her cardigan up to ineffectually cover her head and then took a wrong step and planted her left foot into a pothole full of water. Her new chestnut brown satin kitten heel court shoe got stuck and came off. She pulled it out of the hole and held it up, dripping. Ruined.

Al sighed. "Come on Paul, party's over. I'll take you home."

 _To be continued…_


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32: The Morning After

Saturday Morning

Despite the late hour he had been up, Martin was by habit an early riser so he slept in only till 8 a.m. He had stayed at the Village Hall until about 2 a.m., waiting for the Lifeboat to return with the passengers and crew of the foundered yacht and then evaluating their condition. The rescue had proved difficult as the rising storm caused heavy wind and waves that buffeted the small yacht and the Lifeboat. Nonetheless, everyone had made it to shore with only minor injuries.

Newly showered, shaved, and dressed, Martin felt rejuvenated, although he was still troubled by the events of the previous night. His encounter with Mylow's sister had been unsettling enough but then he and Louisa had been forced to part too quickly and she had gone off with that tosser Jago Powell.

As he prepared his morning cup of espresso, there came a knock at the front door. He opened it to find a young man in mackintosh and Wellington boots, with the rain pouring behind him.

"Hello Dr. Ellingham. Remember me? Colin Kernow?"

"Hm. You sustained a metatarsal fracture playing football last April."

"Yeah, that's me. Doing much better now, thank you."

"Well, what d'you want?"

"I'm a reporter with _The Cornish Echo_ ," he said, taking out a notebook and pen. "I understand there were big doings last night here in Portwenn. A yacht ran aground and you took care of the injured parties?"

"Yes, merely fulfilling my duty of care. There were no serious injuries, just some bruises and mild hypothermia among the yacht passengers."

The young man rapidly scribbled some notes. "And the Lifeboat crew?"

"No injuries." Having given what he felt was all the relevant information, Martin went to close the door.

"Just a minute, Dr. Ellingham. I hear there was also an incident at the big dance last night."

"You mean the, er… masked ball."

"One of the attendees, a local woman, name of Sandra Mylow, put some sort of psychoactive drug into the punch. Is that correct? Was it LSD?"

"No. Rather, it did happen but it wasn't any recognized banned substance, just some herbal concoction of her own making. However, it was highly irresponsible behaviour on her part. And she's not actually local, she had an office here for a while but she lives in Truro."

Colin continued taking notes, without looking up. "Is it true she's the sister of the previous constable here?"

"Yes, that is true."

"And what effect did this concoction have on the people that drank it? Anybody actually poisoned? I understand it caused some wild behaviour on the part of the attendees."

"No reported poisoning, no permanent effects as far as I was able to ascertain. I've recommended that anyone who feels any after-effects should come see me. Anything else, you'll just have to read the police report."

Martin firmly closed the door and went back to his espresso.

Breakfast done, he donned a trench coat and took an umbrella to walk down the hill to do some errands. The marquis tent was still standing by the Village Hall, looking a bit lopsided after the high winds of the early morning hours after the ball had ended. The wind had calmed but rain was still pouring down with no sign of stopping. Even so, he could see onlookers huddled in their macs and wellies with binoculars trained on something going on beyond the harbour wall. Martin went to the grocer's only to discover it was closed.

There was a camera crew set up in front of the tent. Martin was annoyed to think that even on a rainy day people with cameras continued to disrupt things in the village, but he didn't recognize anyone in this crew. A smiling blonde woman under an orange umbrella was talking to the camera, interviewing a man in a yellow police raincoat and hood. As Martin approached he could see it was Penhale, who was eagerly recounting the events of the previous night.

"After I ascertained that people were acting strangely I called on our local GP to assist with the investigation. Working together we were able to uncover a sinister plot by my predecessor's sister, who apparently had designs on our GP," Penhale said. "Designs of an _amorous nature_ ," he added, insinuatingly.

Intent on reaching his next objective, the chemist's, Martin strode in front of the camera. The man operating the camera glared at him and stage whispered "we're live."

"Speaking of our local GP, that's him right there. Our Doc Martin," Penhale said.

"Doc Martin," the woman said, gigging at the name. "Can you give us your account of what happened at the ball last night?"

"No." He continued on his way to the chemist's, only to find it too was closed. Frustrated and grumbling about people being hung over after last night's indulgences, he turned back, taking a roundabout route to avoid the TV crew.

Once home again, he sat in the lounge ready to catch up with the latest issue of _The_ _Lancet._ It occurred to him that it might be instructive to switch on the television, which hadn't been used since his parents' visit, when his father insisted on watching golf.

The local news was on, with the same smiling blonde woman standing with her orange umbrella on the Platt. Penhale was now gone. She was standing in a location where Martin could see a Coast Guard ship in the background beyond the harbour wall, with the same onlookers watching it with binoculars.

"We've heard how the party of the year for this sleepy seaside village, hosted by two-time BAFTA award winner and local favourite son Jago Powell, proved even more eventful than expected last night," she said, looking right into the camera

"Portwenn is already buzzing with excitement that Powell came home to film his latest project here. The international superstar is directing and starring in a new version of Daphne DuMaurier's _Rebecca_ , co-starring with the lovely and talented Wynnie Barlow. He took a break from the shooting schedule to host a masked ball to thank his hometown and raise money for the local Lifeboat Station. The party took a strange turn when a local woman allegedly spiked the punch with an herbal potion reportedly intended to cause feelings of euphoria and amorousness among the revellers. If that weren't strange enough, the festivities were disrupted by a yacht running aground outside the harbour, causing the Lifeboat crew to make a daring rescue amid dangerous weather conditions. We can see in the background the Coast Guard divers are investigating the wreck as we speak, to see if it can be salvaged."

As she talked, she walked slowly with the camera following her along the deserted rain-soaked street until she was in front of the Lifeboat Station. Steve Baker was standing just inside the open door, out of the downpour, waiting to be interviewed.

"Let's hear from the hero of the night how the daring _Moon Ray_ yacht rescue happened," she said.

The camera focused on Baker, who was clearly eager to tell his story.

"Well Lisa, it was a dark and stormy night. I had decided to skip the festivities at the ball to volunteer for the night shift with the Lifeboat, with just a skeleton crew; that way my fellow members of the crew could relax and enjoy themselves at the charity event for a good cause, Portwenn's very own Lifeboat Station. When the radio call came in it was totally unexpected but I was ready to go. The suits that run the organization said 'no Steve, it's too dangerous. You can't go out!' But I told them, 'no storm is gonna keep Steve Baker from answering the call of duty!'"

The woman nodded, still smiling. "You've been a volunteer with the Lifeboat for five years now, is that right? Was this the biggest rescue you've been involved in during all that time?"

"Yes, five years, and this was the big one. The one you train for all that time and that you hope will never happen. But it did happen, and I was ready. We jumped into the boat and headed out into the choppy waves…"

Baker was interrupted by an apparent commotion happening off camera.

"Sorry to interrupt you Steve, but I'm getting word that the Coast Guard divers have discovered something unexpected." She put her hand up to a small speaker in her ear and paused a moment.

"Apparently, the divers have discovered a second wreck on the sea bottom almost directly beneath the _Moon Ray_ ," she said. "This story just keeps getting more and more intriguing!"

 _To be continued…_


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33: _The Cornish Echo_

Saturday Midday

 _Sunken Wreck Remains Likely Those of Local Woman_

 _By Colin Kernow_

 _Cornish Echo Staff Writer_

 _PORTWENN – A small sailboat found on the ocean floor just outside the harbour contains what are believed to be the remains of a local woman missing for just over a year._

 _The boat was found Saturday as police divers inspected the hull of the_ Moon Ray _, a yacht that foundered on the reefs during a storm Friday night. The boat was tentatively identified as belonging to Rachel Wenn, who was reported missing after going out in her boat a year ago last July._

 _Divers have succeeded in raising the boat and recovering the skeletal remains found on board. The remains have been sent to the coroner in Truro_ _for examination._

 _The boat's hull has damage that may have been deliberately inflicted, according to police spokesman P.C. Joseph Penhale._

 _"_ _Funny that this is all just like what happens in the movie, sorta. Except for the bits that aren't," Penhale said, apparently referring to a remake of the classic Hitchcock film_ Rebecca _currently being shot in and around Portwenn._

 _An inquest into the finding of the boat and the remains is expected to be convened Monday._

 _Wenn was married to local landowner Michael Wenn. She is believed to be the only casualty of a fierce Atlantic storm that brought high winds and tides and caused extensive damage to trees and houses in the village last year. Although reputed to be an expert sailor, Wenn had taken out her boat despite small craft warnings issued by the Coast Guard ahead of the storm._

 _According to the police report made at the time, Portwenn Harbourmaster Colin Teague was the only witness to Wenn boarding her sailboat_ No Regrets _apparently alone and sailing out of the harbour. A group of birdwatchers on the South West Coast_ _Path later spotted the sailboat along the coast to the west of the harbour, two miles from where it was found Friday._

 _Wenn's husband recently remarried although his first wife had not been officially declared deceased. On hearing the news that her remains might have been found, Michael Wenn said "I suppose the fishes would have eaten her all up by now." He declined to elaborate and refused further comment._

 _Police said dental records will be used to confirm the deceased's identity._

 _The boat that was raised is a 16-foot Bermuda_ _sloop. Speaking on condition of anonymity, several local sources have already confirmed they recognized it as the one belonging to Rachel Wenn._

 _The discovery of the boat occurred after a dramatic rescue of four people who were aboard the_ Moon Ray _during the Friday storm. The same night saw a masked ball fundraiser in the village centre disrupted by punch allegedly adulterated by someone in attendance. (See related story)._

Martin clicked on the link and saw the headline:

 _Arrest Made In Charity Ball 'Poisoning'_

 _By Colin Kernow_

 _Cornish Echo Staff Writer_

 _PORTWENN – A local herbalist has been arrested for allegedly adulterating the punch at a masked ball fundraiser in an apparent bizarre attempt to test her formula for a "love potion."_

 _Sandra Elowen Mylow, 40, of Truro, was charged with multiple counts of first degree attempted poisoning for allegedly pouring an undetermined quantity of a psychoactive drug into the crystal punch bowl at the ball._

 _"_ _It wasn't any recognized controlled substance, just some herbal concoction of her own making," said local GP Martin Ellingham. "However, it was highly irresponsible behaviour on her part._

 _No one was seriously harmed, according to Ellingham, who added that there were "no permanent effects as far as I was able to ascertain."_

 _Ellingham confirmed that Mylow had an office for her herbalist practice in Portwenn for a while and that she is the sister of former village police constable Mark Mylow._

 _Mylow has been released on bail pending future court appearances. In a brief interview as she left the courthouse in Truro, she said she is currently acting as her own attorney and is planning to plead guilty to all charges._

 _"_ _I expect to receive a light sentence, maybe community service," she said. "In the meantime, I'm working hard refining my formula and looking to patent it and market it to the public. Any idea when Max Clifford gets out of prison?"_

 _P.C. Joseph Penhale, the current village police officer, who had attended the ball whilst off duty, said Mylow admitted her "potion" was a mix of an Italian cocktail and other ingredients intended to mimic a magic elixir from Cornish legend._

 _Penhale said she seemed to be primarily motivated by a desire to gain the attention of Ellingham, with whom she had previously clashed over differing medical practices._

 _"_ _I don't condone adulterating a perfectly good sparkling punch," the constable added, "but it did liven up the party quite a bit."_

 _Village resident Bert Large, who was also present at the ball, said he admired Mylow for coming up with what could be a lucrative marketable formula for a legal recreational drug._

 _"_ _No harm done at the festivities," Large said. "It was like_ A Midsummer Night's Dream _come true for our little village. Come to think of it, that could be our next production for The Portwenn Players. I could play Bottom. Can't you just picture me with a donkey head on?"_

The office phone rang and Martin went to answer it. "Ellingham!"

"Chris Parsons here. I have some good news for you, Mart. Vanessa Stephenson, you remember her – the instructor for the people skills two-week course you had to take. Turns out you were correct about her diagnosis. She's so grateful you caught it in time she's giving you an automatic pass on the course."

"Hm. Well, I know of one person from that course who could benefit from learning some people skills."

Chris chuckled. "You don't mean yourself, by any chance?"

"What? No! It's that idiot Mylow woman, the herbalist who attempted to poison everyone at the ball!"

"Oh _her_. Right, I read all about that. Well, she's not so lucky. Everyone else in the course will have to take it when it's offered again next month. Dr. Stephenson is out of commission for a while so another psychologist, name of Dr. Anthony Oakwood, will be teaching it."

 _To be continued…_

Note: Max Clifford is a notorious celebrity publicist in the U.K. who is currently serving time for being a sexual predator. One of his clients was MC's ex-wife Lucy Aston.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Dedicated. Endearing. Frustrating.

Saturday Midday

With the rain pattering against the window, Louisa sat at her laptop on the kitchen table and read through the Portwenn local news section of _The Cornish Echo_ website. To think, Rachel Wenn's boat was found at last! And if that wasn't strange enough, there was adulterated punch at the ball! By the time she was done she was shaking her head in amazement.

So Martin was right that something was wrong with the punch, she thought. It was lucky that neither she nor Jago had tried any. Who knows what sort of embarrassing situation they could have gotten themselves into in public. She sighed. Martin was indeed very busy last night. It was so typical of him to put his duties as the village GP ahead of personal concerns. She admired that about him of course, but still it could be frustrating.

Louisa thought back to a time that felt so long ago now, when the village was celebrating Harbour Day. She had come up with a costume to match the eye patch she had to wear after being diagnosed with acute glaucoma and she was just starting to warm up to the man who had first noticed her condition.

 _"_ _Your diagnosis was right," she said to Martin. "They got me on drops."_

 _"_ _What?" He had trouble hearing her over the music blaring and the festivities._

 _"_ _They got me on drops!"_

 _"_ _Oh, they're beta blockers," he replied. "It should clear up within a couple of weeks. If not, go and see your doctor."_

 _"_ _I would but I got off to a bad start with him." She smiled._

 _"_ _No, your doctor's a profess… Oh, am I your doctor?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. I should have told you I lived in Portwenn. So how are you finding us?"_

 _"_ _Irritating." He paused to modify his brutally honest opinion. "Apart from the primary school teacher, who's a pirate it seems."_

 _She was just beginning to notice how… well,_ endearing _he could be. "You know you're not at all like I thought you were. You're actually really rather - "_

 _He abruptly noticed something behind her. "I've got to go. Colonel! I wanted a word with you about your…" He ran off._

Yes, dedicated, endearing, and frustrating. That was Martin. She gave a deep sigh. Surely things had settled down now and he could have contacted her today. She checked her email. Nothing. Of course, she could call him. No, she wasn't ready to do that, she couldn't bear the thought of Martin brushing her off again, not so soon after her quarrel with Jago.

The rain showed no sign of letting up. Stuck inside, she decided to do some housework to take her mind off the situation. She went through the kitchen, giving every surface a thorough clean. Then she swept and mopped the floor, all the while thinking how the ball was just a memory now, her princess gown was packed away again, and she was back to being the everyday Cinderella who did the dirty work around the house.

Once satisfied everything was tidy, she rewarded herself with a quick cup of tea and a chocolate digestive. She checked her email again. Nothing. She had a quick thought, maybe she had left her mobile on mute. She fished it out of her handbag to check. No, it wasn't muted and the volume was turned up sufficiently. No messages, no voice mail.

No point in moping about. The next task she set herself was dusting the living room. As she went about wiping the thin grey layer off the lamps and various knickknacks, she stopped at the little end table by the sofa to pick up a small framed photo she had had for years.

It was a particular favourite of hers, taken with the little camera Dad had given her for her 16th birthday. He took her on a birthday road trip to Tintagel Castle, knowing her love of Arthurian legend, and she took a photo of him on the bridge from the mainland to Tintagel Island. She studied the picture. He looked so much younger then, his scruffy beard not yet turned white, and a playful twinkle in his eye as he looked straight into the camera and brandished a souvenir plastic sword with theatrical emphasis. For once he hadn't disappointed her by forgetting her birthday and they had so much fun together that day.

Now, looking at the photo with fresh eyes, she realized the little camera she had treasured, and which he claimed to have gotten for a bargain from a mate in the photography business, was likely stolen goods. She sighed again.

Louisa wiped the silver frame clean of dust and suddenly noticed that the colours were faded and a few tiny mildew spots were developing under the glass. She really should dig out the negative and have a fresh new print made, but it looked like the frame had a slight dent in it and one corner was coming loose. Suddenly she felt so tired, even the simple chore of reprinting the photo and finding a new frame seemed like too much effort. She opened a drawer in the end table and put the photo away, out of sight for good.

Her mobile chirped. She rushed over to the kitchen table to check it. A text! It wasn't from Martin at all but from Jago. "Sorry we quarrelled, picnic with you my fondest teen memory of Portwenn, let's do it again for old time's sake." He had included emojis of a bouquet of flowers, a picnic hamper, and a smiley face.

She smiled and rang his number.

"Louisa! I'm so glad you're still willing to talk to me."

Even though it had been only a few hours since they had been together, she felt a thrill hearing the low, warm tones of his voice again. "Well, I didn't want us to part on bad terms," she said. "It was such a magical night, I'd hate to spoil the memory, especially since you won't be here in Portwenn much longer."

"I'll be here a while yet, but I do have to go to New York for a few days to take care of some urgent business. In fact, I'm heading to Newquay Airport right now. The production can continue on without me, Wynnie has a bunch of scenes to get through. What d'you say about a picnic on the cliffs Thursday?"

"I'd love it. Thursday is good for me, I have some work to catch up with in the meantime getting the school ready for the new term. Call me when you get back."

They rang off and Louisa felt better than she had all day. She sat down at the laptop again and checked _The Cornish Echo_ for any local news updates, then checked her email again. Then she clicked over to a celebrity gossip site, indulging a guilty pleasure to reward herself for getting the housework done.

"Oh Baby! Jago Powell Fights Paternity Suit! Ex-Vogue Model Names Him as Reluctant Baby Daddy" read the bright red headline at the top of the page. Aghast, Louisa couldn't help but click on it.

 _Jago Powell slams claim he fathered former model's baby after whirlwind romance. Powell was spotted spending time in New York_ _'_ _s luxury retreat Hamptons_ _with Lesley Larson last year. Larson, 26, had appeared on the covers of the most exclusive fashion magazines as a teenager and walked the runway for Chanel and Christian Dior. Addicted to heroin during her modelling years, she became known for all night heavy partying that brought an end to her career. After a series of stints in rehab alternating with arrests for driving under the influence, she attempted to reinvent herself as an actress, appearing in a string of unsuccessful low budget horror movies. Lesley recently gave birth to a baby boy and is suing Powell for child support. The Oscar winner, who is nine years her senior, is insisting on a paternity test. Powell is currently filming a movie in Cornwall_ _with Wynnie Barlowe, and reportedly was behind Barlowe's impending break-up with rock star hubbie Carl Michaels._

Louisa had read enough. She closed the website, shut down the laptop, and sighed once again.

 _To be continued…_


	35. Chapter 35

I know I've had a lot of confusing plotlines so far but answers will start coming soon, I promise! Stella D.

Previously on _Doc Martin: The Movie_ : Martin still has another week off from the surgery. He has been investigating a case of oleander poisoning that sickened Michael Wenn, the owner of Wenn Hall, and possibly killed his dog. The actress Wynnie Barlow also had a mysterious illness while filming a movie at Wenn Hall. Martin and Penhale wanted to question the housekeeper Mrs. Daniels about the cases of suspected poisoning but ended up having to flee when they were tacked by a sinister armed drone. Mr. Wenn's first wife Rachel disappeared in a boating accident a year before and her body was just recently found aboard her sunken sailboat, in the aftermath of a storm on the night of the masked ball. Al Large accidentally revealed that the new Mrs. Wenn had lied about never having been to Portwenn before. Meanwhile, after the masked ball Louisa is disillusioned with both her father's and Jago Powell's misdeeds but she is also frustrated by Martin's behaviour. Jago has invited Louisa to a picnic to try to reconcile with her.

Chapter 35: The Inquest

Monday Morning

The rain continued falling heavily all weekend, but by Monday morning it had cleared. There was a freshness in the warm summer air as Martin stepped out onto the stone terrace. He looked about cautiously, then recoiled as the dreaded gull launched itself from the slate roof.

At that moment the girl gang that roamed the narrow village streets like a plague of cackling hyenas was walking up the hill. They laughed as the gull swooped at him, then their laughter quickly turned to shrieks as the aggressive bird took a sudden turn and dove at them, sending them running back down the hill.

With gull and girls gone, Martin breathed a sigh of relief, straightened his tie, and drew himself up to his full height to regain his dignity. The surgery was still closed for another week, so he walked down to the Village Hall to be there when the inquest convened. Having been informed that he might be called as a witness, he made a point of leaving home in plenty of time to be early. And privately, he admitted to himself he was interested in seeing the proceedings.

By the time he got down the hill, he was dismayed to see a small crowd already gathered, waiting for the doors to open.

"Everyone knows when a body has been in a watery grave for even a short time there's not much left when it's found," Bert Large was saying. "Pity, she was a real beauty that Rachel Wenn."

"Now Bert, it's enough of a tragedy without folk dwelling on what happened to her, what's left of her after a year down there," said Caitlin Curran, a local shopkeeper.

"It's just stating a fact about what happens. A body won't last long when the fish come round and start nibbling at it. Mr. Wenn even said so himself in the paper," Chippy Miller said.

Mrs. Tishell then weighed in. "If you ask me, he's probably relieved there's nothing but bones left. Conveniently reduces the evidence of foul play. Isn't that right, Dr. Ellingham?"

"I couldn't say," Martin replied. "I'm not a forensic pathologist."

The doors swung open and Martin took advantage of his imposing size to authoritatively step ahead of everyone else, stride into the hall, and secure himself a front row seat, whilst ignoring the glares of those around him. The gossipy speculation continued as his fellow early birds filled the seats.

"I'm just saying," Mrs. Tishell continued, "it's very odd that the man would go ahead and marry again when he couldn't know for sure his first wife was deceased, not unless he knew _something_ no one else knew."

"Not that their marriage was even legal, not knowing what happened to Rachel; and the new wife such a naïve child," Mrs. Curran said.

"Not naïve at all, if you ask me," Mrs. Tishell replied sternly. "She has a scheming look about her. It's a wonder the two of them can even show their faces in public, let alone at the inquest for the first wife's mysterious death."

They all turned to watch as the Wenns came into the hall, avoiding eye contact with anyone, taking their seats in an area reserved for relatives of the deceased. The rest of the hall quickly filled up with all available seats taken and as many standees in back as Penhale determined the fire code would allow.

The magistrate was an older woman with a serious expression, who'd come up from Truro. "The purpose of an inquest is to answer four questions," she announced to the eager audience. "Those are: What is the identity of the deceased? What was the place of his or her death? What was the time of his or her death? And how did the deceased come by his or her death?"

"Evidence admitted here must be solely for the purpose of answering these questions. It is not for the inquest to ascertain the broad circumstances of how the deceased came to die, or determine criminal or civil liability for the death. However, the inquest should set out as many of the facts in the case as the public interest requires," she added.

And with that, she called the first witness, the coroner Dr. David Jameson, who swiftly dealt with the first question. He declared the dental records had determined the deceased was indeed Rachel Angela Brading Wenn, resident of Wenn Hall, Portwenn.

Then the coroner dropped a bombshell. "Contrary to expectation, the body was far better preserved than usual in such situations," he said. "Owing to the fact that it was enclosed in the sailboat cabin, which filled up with water but was left largely intact, thus denying entry to any but the smallest sea life; and additionally the fact that the deceased was wearing a wet suit which preserved the body excepting for the exposed head, hands, and feet; we were able to determine that she did not die from drowning. There was no water in her lungs. She was, in fact, already dead when her boat sank."

This aroused a reaction from the room that started as shocked murmurs and quickly escalated to a speculative din. Martin glanced over to the Wenns but both husband and wife were stoned-faced, almost refusing to show any reaction to this revelation.

"Quiet! Quiet!" the magistrate shouted. Once order was restored, she questioned the coroner further. "Have you determined the cause of death?"

"Not as yet," he replied. "There's no evidence of trauma to the body. We've sent tissue samples to the pathology lab and we should have some results within a few days."

In the meantime, the magistrate decided to call Michael Geoffrey Wenn to the stand. Mr. Wenn quietly got up, ignoring the curious eyes on him, and went forward to take his place.

"Can you tell us what prompted your wife, Rachel Wenn, to go out alone in her boat? On a night when a severe storm was expected?" the magistrate asked.

Mr. Wenn seemed reluctant to recall this information, speaking quietly at first, and then gaining confidence and volume as he went on. "Well, she had told me the day before that she thought she was pregnant. It was something of a surprise as I was under the impression she was taking contraceptive pills. Rachel was not fond of children. However, she seemed open to the idea of having a baby when she told me. It's just that… well, look, I know the missing persons police report at the time said the cook Mrs. Philpotts overheard us arguing. That was just because I was aware that Rachel had been seeing someone behind my back, so she was not certain of the paternity."

There was loud reaction from the crowd and Mr. Wenn became visibly defensive.

"I know people think I married Rachel for her money. The manor house is very expensive to maintain and the Wenn family has… well, I suppose our fortunes have declined a bit. But it wasn't like that at all. I loved Rachel, I really did, at least at first. It's just that after we were married, I realized she wasn't the person I thought I knew. She wanted to marry me for my family name, the Wenn name still means something around here. And she wanted to be the lady of the manor. But she had quite a bit more past than she had let on, lots of men she had been involved with, and some women as well, she was quite a free spirit."

"Mr. Wenn! Please stick to the relevant facts and try to answer the question," the magistrate said.

He took a deep breath, and glanced over at the second Mrs. Wenn as if to boost his confidence, before returning his attention to the magistrate.

"Sorry. I know all this is probably not relevant but you did say you wanted to set out as many facts of the case as you could. The public seems to have a morbid interest in my personal business so you might as well all know the truth. Anyway, Rachel went out the next day for hours, she drove somewhere, and when she came back she seemed changed. Very serious, which was unusual for Rachel. She wouldn't say two words to me, except to tell me she was going out in her boat. I tried to tell her there was a storm coming but she wouldn't listen. It was obvious anyway, the wind was picking up and the clouds were out over the ocean, there's no way she wouldn't have known it for herself. And that's the last I saw or heard of her. Until they found her boat Friday night, that is."

After Mr. Wenn's testimony, the inquest adjourned for the day. The crowd was abuzz with speculation about what it all meant as people exited the Village Hall.

Martin went back up the hill to the surgery. The answer machine was blinking so he pressed the button. A voice he hadn't heard in quite some time responded. It was a voice he would have been happy never to have heard again, a voice that evoked images of gum chewing; and braided, pink-tinted hair; and a sensation of nails on a chalkboard.

"Hey Doc, love your rhyming answer message. Our Pauline must be livening up the place. Dunno why you're closed for the fortnight but I been hearing on the news about this boat they found with Rachel Wenn dead and her face chewed off by fish and all. Terrible, innit. Anyway, you need to look up Mrs. Wenn's notes. You're bad with names but you probably remember she was the posh lady that thought she was preggers but there was things going on with it. Don't ask how I know, sometimes the files fall open and I can't help seeing what you wrote in them, it's not like I'm blind, innit. Pauline doesn't know anything about it, she came in before she was there. Before Pauline was there, that is. Anyway, I'm here with Greg in Pompey, got a new tattoo, learning to scuba, if you care."

A second message, left a moment later, was much shorter. "It's Elaine, if you can't tell, innit. Just look up that file."

Martin sat at the receptionist's desk and went through the files. He couldn't find anything under W for Wenn. Remembering Pauline's peculiar filing system, he looked up R for Rachel. There it was. He made a mental note to have Pauline redo her system when she got back to work. He took the file to his office and read through it, frowning. Yes, it was coming back to him now. He looked up the coroner's number and rang him.

"Erm, yes, this is Dr. Ellingham for Dr. Jameson. I have some information that may be relevant to the Rachel Wenn case. But first, I'll need you to check if Mrs. Wenn was in the early stages of pregnancy… Yes, that's right. And er… you might want to check for traces of oleander in her remains.

Martin reflected for a moment and then rang a second number.

"Penhale? Dr. Ellingham here. Do you have an inventory of items found in Mrs. Wenn's sailboat cabin? Yes, well I'd like to see it as soon as possible."

 _To be continued…_


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The Inquest Continues

Tuesday Morning

"As the results of the more detailed autopsy indicate, Rachel Wenn was not pregnant. However, she was afflicted with ovarian cancer, which can mimic the symptoms of pregnancy," the coroner told the packed room. "This confirms a hunch by her GP, Dr. Ellingham."

As the coroner stepped down from the stand, Martin was prepared for the call to testify he knew would come next.

"At the urging of my, erm… former receptionist, I reviewed my file on Mrs. Wenn. I had not previously connected the name of the deceased with the patient who had come to see me in the early days of my practice here in Portwenn," he said, as the magistrate prompted him to explain.

"The patient had come to the surgery concerned that she was exhibiting signs of pregnancy, however she had taken three home pregnancy tests and each one proved negative. I determined that she was likely suffering from ovarian cancer, and that she needed tests to confirm the diagnosis and to start treatment immediately, as the disease can advance quickly and has a high mortality rate. She expressed concern because her mother had died of this form of cancer and she seemed disinclined to follow the same route."

In the audience, Mrs. Daniels half rose out of her seat. She had been observing the proceedings quietly up, but now her emotional state a marked contrast to Martin's clinical demeanour. "Disinclined to follow the same route?! She was bloody terrified. Rachel was a proud woman, a true fighter! She could never have let them poison her with that chemotherapy, to waste away into nothing!"

The magistrate cautioned her and the rest of the crowd to stay quiet. "Please proceed, Dr. Ellingham."

Martin maintained his professional tone, barely acknowledging to himself that he was a bit shaken by the outburst. "The patient… er, that is, Rachel Wenn, said she couldn't bear the thought of going through chemotherapy, especially if the odds of survival were not good. I did not hear from her again after that visit, so I never learned the outcome of her case. Until now, that is."

As Martin returned to his seat with the crowd murmuring, someone entered the room and handed a file of papers to the coroner, who looked through them and went to consult with the magistrate. The coroner then returned to the stand.

"It also appears we have the results of the toxicology test, as requested by Dr. Ellingham," he said. "The results are certainly significant. The cause of death was due to concentrated levels of oleander in stomach contents and in the blood."

Penhale was then called to the stand. "The Doc, Dr. Ellingham that is, had asked about the evidence found in the sailboat cabin." He held up a clear plastic evidence bag with a small bottle inside it. "Among the items was an empty 100 millimetre amber glass bottle with a screw-on lid. There is no label on the bottle."

"Is it possible a label could have peeled off in the sea water?" the magistrate asked.

"Sure, anything's possible," Penhale replied, to the crowd's laughter. "Even if we found a label though, any writing on it could have faded in the water. The important thing is the bottle remained sealed while underwater and the toxicology test confirmed that it contained traces of oleander oil. Nice call on that one, Doc!"

The crowd laughed again. Roused by the sight of the evidence, Mr. Wenn leapt to his feet and shouted. "That's exactly the type of bottle Mrs. Daniels used to keep in the kitchen at my house when she lived there, for her 'herbal remedies.' You need to search her cottage out on the moor, who knows what she's been up since she moved out there."

The magistrate called for order, then appearing to consider what Mr. Wenn had said, called him to the stand.

"Like I said, I recognize that type of bottle as one my housekeeper uses in her hobby as an herbalist," Mr. Wenn said. "She was obsessed with Rachel when Rachel was alive, always trying to ingratiate herself, and she's been noticeably cold to my new wife since I brought her home to the manor house."

"Were you aware of your wife's true situation before her disappearance, that she likely had an advanced form of cancer?" the magistrate asked.

"No, she never told me," Mr. Wenn admitted.

"Why do you think she didn't confide in her own husband?"

Mr. Wenn frowned and looked down at his hands. "I couldn't say." He looked up again, searching for his new wife's face, as if to draw reassurance from the sight of her.

Mrs. Daniels loudly snorted her scepticism. The magistrate looked at her disapprovingly, then called her up to grant her a chance to speak.

"So it's one of my bottles, what does that prove?" the housekeeper said. "Mrs. Wenn told me she was pregnant days before she went missing but then after she came back from the surgery, on the last day anyone saw her, she wouldn't say anything to me. She went out and then I noticed one of my bottles was missing from the kitchen. The cook was on holiday that week so it wasn't her that took it. It was an organic insecticide, all natural, made from oleander oil, not meant for human consumption, certainly not. Just to keep the pests away from the garden, mind you. The bottle had a skull and crossbones label on it when I last saw it."

As the crowd's murmurs rose to a roar, she raised her voice to be heard above them. "It wasn't a happy marriage in that house, and he never wanted kids, he just married her for her money. I have my suspicions but I'm not saying anything. You can put two and two together yourself!"

"How dare you insinuate that I had anything to do with this?" Mr. Wenn shouted back. "I'll sue you for slander."

The magistrate thought it best to close the inquest for the day, to give everyone a chance to calm down. As the crowd filed out, still buzzing with excitement, Martin went over to talk to a familiar face he had seen at the back.

"Oh, Auntie Joan," he reproved her. "I didn't think you would stoop to coming out to these things as a form of gossipy entertainment. Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, small minds discuss people. Someone said that, possibly Eleanor Roosevelt."

"Don't be so judgmental, Marty," she scoffed. "You might get lonely up there in your ivory tower with nothing but ideas to keep you company. The most interesting people discuss all three, and that includes showing an interest in other people's behaviour as more than just a puzzle to be unravelled."

For once Martin was relieved to see Penhale trying to catch his eye across the room, apparently eager to tell him something. "Hm. The constable seems to need me."

 _To be continued…_


	37. Chapter 37

Apologies to readers confused by the sequence of chapters. I accidentally loaded Chapter 38 instead of 37 last night. I loaded Chapters 37 and 38 in the proper sequence now so you have get two at once. My bad! Stella D.

Chapter 37: Penhale Lines Up the Suspects

Tuesday Midday

"Come here, Doc. I want to show you something."

Penhale walked with Martin down the street to the police station. "By the way, the boys at the crime lab say they found some fingerprints on the drone-gun but they don't match anything on file," Penhale said. "It's quite the mystery. Mrs. Daniels has an alibi for when we were at Larkspur Cottage, she was in Truro shopping all day and CCTV footage proves it. The boys are getting a warrant to search the cottage."

"Hey, you're not secretly the one behind it all, are you Doc?" the constable prattled on. "Cause I heard about how in Port Liac they had some strange goings on recently, turned out it was the local GP gone mad. Of course the fellow who figured it all out is now the new GP so you never can tell. They said he's a Londoner like you but not a toss… well they say he's a nice fellow."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's just a joke, Doc," Penhale grinned eagerly as they reached the station. "This is what I wanted to show you."

In a side room Penhale had set up a whiteboard on an easel, with some photos taped to it and names written in marker underneath each one.

Martin was puzzled. "What is this?"

"It appears we have a murder on our hands, Doc," Penhale replied, looking pleased with his setup. "I need to go over the evidence, and I was hoping you could assist me. You've got an organized mind."

"Is this a standard police technique?"

"Well I've seen it on TV. It's a way of keeping track of our suspects and their motives, means, and opportunities."

"Hm." Martin was sceptical but willing to take a look at the constable's presentation. "So, who do we have here?"

"First up." Penhale pointed to a photo of an attractive dark-haired woman at the top of the board, whom Martin recognized as his former patient. "Rachel Angela Brading Wenn. Age 40 at the time of her death. Her body was found in her sunken sailboat but the cause of death was not from drowning but from having ingested a toxic substance."

"Clearly she died before the boat sank," Martin acknowledged.

"Someone staged the scene to make it look like an accidental drowning," Penhale proposed.

"But that hypothetical someone would know that if the boat was found and an autopsy done it would be obvious she hadn't drowned."

Penhale seemed stumped by that simple logic, but he ploughed on, pointing to the first of three photos in a row beneath the deceased.

"Well, let's have a look at our suspects. We have her husband, Michael Geoffrey Trevanion Wenn. Age 42. Scion of Portwenn's foremost family. He was suspected of having married for money because his family's manor house needed substantial repairs. He was also known to have been quarrelling with his wife over her suspected infidelities. I wasn't around when the first Mrs. Wenn went missing but my predecessor, P.C. Mylow, said in his report the husband didn't show much emotion over his wife's disappearance."

Martin was unconvinced by that statement. "Some people aren't comfortable with… um, public displays of emotion."

"Still," Penhale countered, "he didn't waste any time getting remarried, didn't even wait for the first wife to be declared legally dead."

"Right." Martin nodded.

Penhale pointed to the next photo in the lineup of suspects. "Loveday Anne Smith Wenn. Age 22. Originally from London. Michael Wenn found himself a much younger model this time around, not that she's much of a trophy wife. Rather plain compared to the first wife, if you ask me."

"Not actually relevant," Martin said.

"Maybe not, but what is relevant is that the second Mrs. Wenn lied to her new husband that she had never been to Wenn Hall, or even to Cornwall, before she married him."

"How do you know this?"

"Al Large came to see me yesterday after word got round that Rachel Wenn was already dead when her sailboat sank. Said he doesn't like to pass along gossip but Pauline Lamb thought it might be important. Anyway, Al said he knew Loveday Smith at school and in fact she was obsessed with Wenn Hall when she was a teenager, wanted to live there. Seems pretty suspicious."

"Hm. A case of erotomania, perhaps?"

"Eroto-what?"

Martin felt uncomfortable dredging up what had proved to be a very unfortunate misdiagnosis not so long ago, but he was more certain that it was applicable in this case.

"Erotomania, also known as De Clérambault's Syndrome. More common in women. They fall for an older man of a higher social standing, or a higher professional standing, and form delusional romantic attachments. Often associated with an excessive intrusiveness into the life of the object of the, um, irrational affection. Stalking, if you like. Although in this case, she may have formed her attachment to the manor house and the status it represents, and then stalked the owner as a means of attaining that status."

Penhale was impressed. "Very intriguing, Doc. I think you may be onto something. She could have murdered the first wife whilst plotting to take her place as lady of the manor."

"No evidence that she was anywhere near this area, or had any connection with the Wenn family, at the time of the first Mrs. Wenn's death though, is there. However, she was present when her husband and his dog apparently ingested something that sickened him and killed the dog."

Penhale considered this. "If Mr. Wenn was poisoned too then it he's not likely to have been the murderer, is he. Unless it was a clever scheme to throw people off the track."

"A risky scheme though. He could easily have killed himself in the process. And why poison the dog too?"

"To get sympathy?"

"Hm." Martin had no comment about that. "In any case, the housekeeper, Mrs. Daniels, was in the proximity both when Mrs. Wenn went missing and when Mr. Wenn fell ill."

"Right you are, Doc."

Penhale moved to the next suspect, who was represented by a stick figure drawing rather than a photograph. "I couldn't find a photo of the housekeeper, so I improvised. Agnes Daniels. Age 63. Scary old spinster that fools around with some potent plants, including of the poisonous variety. Seems to have had an obsession with the deceased. Maybe Mrs. Daniels had a case of this erotic-mania with the first Mrs. Wenn, only instead of what you described Doc she formed a delusional lesbian-type romantic attachment for a younger woman of higher social standing."

Martin was actually a bit impressed that Penhale was able to form this idea on his own. "Er, possibly. Why poison the object of her attachment though?"

"Jealousy? Either jealous that Rachel Wenn had gotten married or that she was having an affair with someone. Mr. Wenn said he knew his wife was carrying on but he didn't know who with."

"Well um… just a moment." Martin went out to the station waiting room where he had seen a small table with a stack of old issues of popular magazines. He riffled through them and quickly found one of the celebrity gossip type that people seemed to like so much. Sure enough there was a familiar face right on the cover. He tore the cover off and went back to tape it on the board at the end of the row of suspects.

 _To be continued…_


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38: Something Rich and Strange

Tuesday Midday

Martin indicated the magazine photo he had taped to Penhale's gallery of suspects.

"Jago Powell. Age, er, about 35 or so. He apparently has homes in London and Los Angeles but he lived in Portwenn for a time as a teenager. He was here last year just before Rachel Wenn's disappearance, scouting the house as a location for his film. I understand he was the person with whom she was having the affair."

"And how do you know that, Doc?"

Martin was reluctant to reveal that his source was his aunt's gossip. "Er, I can't say, but I think it's worth you asking him about. He could well have had the opportunity, although the means and motive are still obscure."

"Substance abuse problems, Doc. He says he's done with that, but there was that incident where he was stopped for reckless driving last year. And then there's always jealousy. The green-eyed monster. It can make people do crazy things they regret later, everybody knows that. It's not exactly brain science, is it."

"It is, er… brain science actually. In any case, jealousy could be a possible motive for Mr. Wenn as well, causing him to act out in anger against his wife. Unfortunately, the only known witness to Rachel Wenn taking her boat out that day, the harbourmaster, said she was apparently alone when she boarded and sailed out of the harbour."

"Someone could have put the poison in her canteen ahead of time."

"Was there a canteen, or a thermos or water bottle found on board?"

"Don't think so," Penhale replied.

"And even if there were, why leave the amber glass bottle that contained the poison on board?"

"What if…" Penhale paused to think of new possibilities. "Someone could have been hiding on the boat and tricked her into drinking the poison."

"Possibly, but how would that person have gotten away to land afterward?"

"Another boat was waiting?"

"Again, possibly," Martin conceded. "Did the birdwatchers who spotted her sailboat from the top of the cliffs see any other boat?"

"P.C. Mylow's report said they didn't." Penhale thought for a moment. "What if the perp swam to shore?"

"It's all cliffs along where the boat was spotted by the birdwatchers and the place it was later found. I suppose theoretically a strong swimmer could have made it to the rocks and then climbed to the headland, but it would have been extremely dangerous, even without a storm moving in." Martin suppressed a shudder at the memory of his own recent experience climbing the sea cliffs.

Penhale tried another line of thought. "Rachel Wenn was dressed to go scuba diving. She might have been meeting someone to go diving with. Or if someone was hiding on the boat they could have tricked her into thinking they were going diving, or they could have dressed the body to make it look like she was going diving. Hmmm, don't know why they would do that. There was lots of diving gear in the cabin with the body though."

"The fact that she was dressed for diving does seem significant," Martin said. "Do you have that inventory of items found in the sailboat cabin? The amber bottle proved a crucial piece of evidence but have you examined all the items from the cabin?"

"No, hardly had time to go through it all. We have to store everything in plastic evidence bags to preserve fingerprints, hairs, bloodstains, and so on, not that there's likely to be anything after a year underwater but we have to follow protocol. It's taking forever for everything to dry out to go over it. I've got the inventory here though."

He pulled out some papers stapled together. Martin studied the list, not entirely sure what he was looking for, scanning through each item until one caught his eye. "Here." He pointed to it. "Can you show me this?"

"Aqua Scuba Note Pad. Sure, Doc. You think it means something?"

"Not certain. It may be nothing, but I'd like to see it".

Penhale unlocked the evidence closet and pulled out some boxes. He found a clear plastic bag marked with a serial number and started to unseal it.

"Wait!" Martin commanded. He took a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and handed them to the constable, then took out a pair for himself and put them on.

"Thanks Doc, almost forgot about not contaminating the evidence. Lucky you always come prepared."

Penhale opened the bag and took out a small notebook with a yellow cover and a pencil attached on a string. Martin opened it and began leafing through the pages, which were still damp and smelt of seawater. There were some hastily scrawled notes about fish and a couple of sketches of what appeared to be shipwrecks. Then, the very last page that had been written on, in bold, unhurried writing, he found what he was expecting.

 _To whoever finds this,_

 _I, Rachel Angela Brading Wenn, declare my intention to end my life. I received the diagnosis of ovarian cancer today from the local GP and do not intend to follow any advice to seek a second diagnosis or subject myself to chemotherapy. I saw my mother go through that nonsense so many years ago, her beauty and glorious wild spirit destroyed by the poison which in the end didn't save her from death after all. So I will go out in the manner of my own choosing, in the deep ocean world where I have always felt more at home than on dry land._

 _To my husband Michael, no apologies for the disappointments of our marriage. I didn't supply enough of the fortune you were hoping for to maintain the family manor in the manner to which you were accustomed and you didn't supply enough of the passion I'd hoped for in our marriage. I would hate to have had to rely on you to care for an ailing wife as the cancer took its toll. Oh I'm sure you'll miss me for a moment or two, but I'm equally sure you will have moved on to someone else before the fishes have finished with my remains. I'm reminded of something Alfred Hitchcock once said: 'There is nothing quite so good as burial at sea. It is simple, tidy, and not very incriminating.'_

 _So I turned to Mrs. Daniels for assistance in making my exit. She supplied me with a bottle suitably inscribed with skull and crossbones and assured me that once I downed the contents I would have 30 minutes to write this note and slip into the water for my final dive. I didn't inquire as to how the crazy old witch knows so much about poison._

 _So now, to paraphrase Shakespeare, let my epitaph be:_

 _Full fathom five thy lady lies;_

 _Of her bones are coral made;_

 _Those are pearls that were her eyes:_

 _Nothing of her that doth fade_

 _But doth suffer a sea-change_

And here the writing suddenly became smaller and progressively unsteady.

 _Into something rich and stran_

The last word trailed off unfinished.

 _To be continued…_


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Accusations

Wednesday Morning

"Preliminary handwriting analysis and comparison of the suicide note with other documents known to be in Rachel Wenn's handwriting have concluded that the note is authentic," announced the magistrate. "And so this inquest is concluded with a finding of suicide."

The audience's shock at the initial revelation of the note and its contents had subsided, and people began to disperse, still buzzing with excitement but satisfied that the mystery had been solved. The Wenns retreated to a quiet corner to avoid making eye contact as the others left, Mrs. Wenn turning her attention to buying a fizzy drink from a vending machine.

"This is still an active investigation," Penhale told them. He urged the Wenns, along with Mrs. Daniels and a reluctant Martin, to follow him down the street to the police station. He took them into the room where he had conferred with Martin the day before.

"What is this, Hercule Poirot?" Mr. Wenn demanded when he saw the board set up with the photos and names. "You've got us all lined up there like a bunch of suspects. Why don't you just arrest her?" He pointed at Mrs. Daniels. "She's the one that helped Rachel to do it. The old witch probably talked her into it too."

"It is an offence to 'aid, abet, counsel or procure the suicide of another' under Section 2 of the Suicide Act of 1961, carrying a prison term of up to 14 years," Penhale stated,

"You're still trying to pin this on me," Mrs. Daniels retorted to Mr. Wenn. "I knew this would happen, that's why I wasn't completely honest about it before, but the fact is when Rachel was in trouble it was me she turned to, not to you, her own husband. She came to me and told me about the cancer. She couldn't face the treatment, she was always so proud, she didn't want to go out that way. But she didn't tell me she was going to go the suicide route. She asked me hypothetically what it would be like if someone were to swallow a whole bottle of my special herbal insecticide and I was honest with her. I said there would be some discomfort but it would be like falling asleep forever and it would take about a half hour. She said if she were ever to do something like that she would drink from the bottle and then dive to the heart of the sea that she loved and never come up."

The housekeeper's voice took on a wistful note as she recalled Mrs. Wenn's words to her. Then she seemed to snap back to reality and glared at them. "It was all strictly hypothetical though," she said. "It was only later I saw one of my bottles was missing and I knew she must have taken it. Like I said, I never told anyone because I knew you would all blame me. You can't prove anything against me."

Martin frowned. "You must have overestimated the amount of time for the poison to take effect. She appears to have expected to have enough time to finish writing her note, don her mask, and go over the side. Instead she succumbed as she was writing the note. The boat must have been swamped during the storm."

"You're a compulsive liar," Wenn insisted to the housekeeper. "Why should anyone believe anything you say? Rachel came right out in the note and said you gave her the poison."

Mrs. Daniels appeared genuinely distraught. "I don't know why she said those things about me, lying and calling me names. Rachel could be so cruel but in the end she confided in me and not you. What does that tell you? She must have taken the insecticide bottle after I left."

"Don't act like you cared about the state of my marriage," Wenn retorted. "You were fine with people thinking all this time I had somehow done in Rachel. Did you put something in my tea and poison my dog too? Was that just out of pure spite?"

"I had nothing to do with that. I swear I don't know what happened to you and the dog. Maybe it's _her_ you ought to be suspicious about, the little deceiver. You let yourself be seduced by a mere child, a wicked child." Mrs. Daniels turned suddenly on Mrs. Wenn, who clutching her fizzy drink can indeed looked like a guilty child caught in the act of something.

"You already know she stalked you to trick you into marrying her," Mrs. Daniels continued. "It's the house she really wants, she always had her eye on Wenn Hall. Now that she's got it what does she need you for?"

Martin wasn't a keen student of human behaviour, but it seemed to him there was real spite in the housekeeper's accusations and when he looked at the young woman's reaction the animosity was returned. Mrs. Wenn finished it off her drink by throwing her head back and emptying the sugary contents down her throat. She threw the can sideways into a bin and glared back at the older woman defiantly but said nothing.

"I've had enough of this," Mrs. Daniels said. "If you had any real evidence to charge me you'd have done so by now." She stalked out and departed.

Mrs. Wenn stalked off in the other direction, mumbling about needing the loo. Penhale took the opportunity to address her husband directly. "Your wife and your housekeeper don't seem too fond of each other. I'm surprised you didn't sack her on the spot after all this."

"I don't know why you would say that." Wenn seemed surprised but Martin noticed he avoided their eyes. "Mrs. Daniels has her quirks, no doubt, but she does her job well enough. She's practically a family member. My wife even suggested I give her a pay rise the other day."

Penhale was taken about by this response. "Well, are you at all suspicious about your wife's actions on the morning you were poisoned?" he countered.

"She wasn't even home when it happened. She was out and about on her scooter. She could drive our Land Rover anytime she wants but she loves her little vintage Vespa. She said she always wanted one so I bought it for her as a wedding present. I don't where she gets out to on that thing sometimes."

Mrs. Wenn came back in the room, glancing at them curiously. Martin wondered if she had overheard Penhale's conversation with her husband.

"I think we're finished here, constable," Mr. Wenn said. "Wait at the door Luv, while I get the car."

As Penhale went to his office to write up his notes, Martin found himself alone with Mrs. Wenn. Not one for small talk, he nonetheless felt compelled to say something. "Erm… it seems likely Mrs. Daniels will no longer be in your employ… given what's happened."

Her reaction was similar to her husband's. She acted surprised but avoided his glance. "It's just disagreements, everyone will get over it in time. Mrs. Daniels does her job okay, she's served my husband's family well. She's practically family herself."

"Hm." Martin recognized family dysfunction when he saw it, it was a subject he was very familiar with, but he still didn't understand any of it.

Mrs. Wenn took out a little device out of her purse. She put it to her lips and inhaled. An LED light at the tip glowed briefly and she exhaled a small cloud.

This was a subject Martin felt far more confident dealing with. "You can't smoke in here."

"It's not smoking it's vaping. It's an e-cig. Harmless, innit."

"It is _not_ harmless. It may be somewhat safer than an actual cigarette but unless you are using it to quit smoking you are still exposing yourself to carcinogens."

"I'm just doing it to myself, no second hand smoke or anything. You can't even smell it, can you." She sauntered outside, still puffing away.

"I _can_ smell it!" Martin yelled after her.

In fact, it smelt sickly sweet and curiously familiar… like artificial butterscotch. He darted outside to confront her but she was already gone. He went back inside to find Penhale back in the room, about to empty the trash bin.

"Just a moment," Martin said.

He took a latex glove from his pocket, put it on, and carefully pulled the fizzy drink can out of the trash, holding it with top and bottom delicately poised between index finger and thumb.

"Get one of those evidence bags," he told the constable. "I need you to dust this for fingerprints."

 _To be continued…_

Note: To reader ke0212 who wondered how many pairs of latex gloves the Doc carries around in his pockets – I picture him always well stocked with them, because it's better to have them when you need them than need them and not have them!


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40: Penhale Makes An Arrest

Thursday Morning

P.C. Joseph Penhale was very happy.

In the short time he had been in Portwenn he'd already seen more action than in a year in any previous posting. Suspected poisonings, a drone attack, a masked ball gone awry, a sunken shipwreck, and the revelation of a dramatic suicide. Sure it was disappointing that he lacked the evidence to arrest Agnes Daniels for aiding the suicide, but that was all forgotten once he had the opportunity to take fingerprints.

He had taken the fizzy drink can to his office, where he pulled out his fingerprint kit and blew the thin layer of dust off the top, and donned some latex gloves. Carefully he had dusted for prints, following the correct procedure he had learned at the academy, and was thrilled to see what appeared to be some pretty clear examples of all five fingers from the suspect's right hand. It was textbook! He had repackaged the can in the evidence bag and driven all the way to Chief Inspector Jackson in Delabole to deliver it personally.

It took a day to get the results back. He'd spent the time catching up on paperwork and working on his weight training. He could bench press 68 kilograms now and was proud of it. Since his divorce from Maggie became official six months ago, he wanted to look good for the ladies. He was excited to hear Louisa Glasson was without husband or children. The gossip mill said she was spending time with Jago Powell lately but they were old friends so it was natural. Soon the movie would wrap up production, Jago would go back to his glamorous life in Hollywood, and then maybe the village school head would be interested in spending time with another old friend, like maybe the village constable who was newly reassigned to his hometown.

It was worth the wait for the fingerprints. It was gratifying to know he would soon have an answer to the strange attack at the cottage. Penhale was not a brave man but he desperately wanted to be. He didn't like feeling exposed in wide open spaces or worrying about falling asleep while driving but the thing that scared him most of all was for others to think he was not fit to wear the uniform of an officer of the law. Whenever the insecurity gnawed at him he took to the weightlifting bench and worked harder than ever at it.

Chief Inspector Jackson called him personally to tell him the news: The two prints found on the drone and handgun were indeed a match with Loveday Wenn's prints from the can. Penhale could hardly wait to ring his new friend.

"Hey Doc, love your rhyming answer phone message. Really lightens up your image. We got a match on the fingerprints, thanks to your sensitive nose. You really sniffed out the culprit in the case, ha ha. We're moving in to arrest the perp now and we'll be interrogating her this afternoon. Thought you'd want to know, if you have any questions you'd like to ask her."

Penhale was all set to drive out to Wenn Hall and arrest Mrs. Wenn. When he stepped out the front door of the police station he was almost disappointed to see her just a short distance down the street about to go into the grocer's with her husband. It was pouring down rain and they were shaking out their umbrellas in the doorway when he confronted them.

"Loveday Wenn. I have a warrant for your arrest on charges of attempted murder, possession of a dangerous weapon, and disrupting the peace."

"See here, why are harassing my wife?" Mr. Wenn demanded. "This is absurd!"

Penhale became aware that people were stopping to stare in the street at what must have been a strange spectacle of him accosting a mousy-looking young woman like she was a dangerous criminal. Nevertheless, he stood his ground. After all, she _was_ a dangerous criminal!

"You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

"It's all right Michael, I… I can explain," Mrs. Wenn said. Penhale took out his handcuffs and she looked pale, like she was going to faint. "There's no need, I'll come quietly. Let's get out of the rain."

At the station, Mrs. Wenn sat resigned as Penhale started up a digital recorder for the interrogation, with Mr. Wenn, and the newly arrived Doc in attendance.

"So what gave me away?" Mrs. Wenn said. "It was the vaping wasn't it. Michael's right, it's a bad habit but I can't help it when I get nervous. I don't suppose I can have a few puffs right now. No? All right."

"Why did you attack us? Where did you get the gun? How did you learn to fly a drone like that?" Penhale started in. The Doc motioned for him to restrain himself.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" the Doc said. "What were you doing at Mrs. Daniels's cottage in the first place?"

She hesitated and seemed to be gathering her thoughts. "So, you already know that I haven't been entirely honest about having been in Cornwall before. I did live here for a while when I was a teenager."

"That's really a private matter between me and my wife," Mr. Wenn insisted.

"It's all right darling, I want to tell the whole story. I lived with my old Gran in Newquay, but I have more family near Portwenn. I used to ride my old scooter here to visit my Uncle Andy at Larkspur Cottage. He used to fix bikes and tinker with all sorts of things and he taught me how to weld so I could help him work on his sculptures. I like that sort of thing, Gran always said it wasn't suitable for a girl but I've always been good at working with my hands. He had model trains too and when drones came out he bought some and showed me how to fly them. The gun was his dad's, my granddad's. Uncle Andy had the idea to attach it to the quad copter and set it up so he could fire it remotely. Maybe it wasn't too sensible but he never meant to hurt anybody."

"But _you_ meant to hurt somebody, namely _us!_ " Penhale exclaimed.

"Um, well, I just wanted to scare you away. I didn't think the gun would even still fire after all this time. You see, I rode my new Vespa there and let myself in. I had it parked around back. I knew Uncle Andy used to keep a spare key under a rock in the garden and it was still there. I got scared when you two showed up. I thought maybe you had a warrant to search the place and you'd catch me there. The drone was just sitting on a table. I turned it on, I was amazed the battery was still charged. I didn't even think about what I was doing I just wanted to chase you both away so I could escape."

"Hm. The question is what were you doing there in the first place?" the Doc demanded.

"Lovie," Mr. Wenn was puzzled. "Larkspur Cottage belonged to the late Andy Daniels. If he was your uncle, that means…"

She sighed. "Yeah, Mrs. Daniels is my auntie, Aunt Agnes. She's only called Mrs. because she's a housekeeper, she was never married," she explained to Penhale.

"We've never been fond of each other, all right," Mrs. Wenn continued. "She and my mum never got along. When I showed up at Wenn Hall married to Michael Aunt Agnes threatened to expose that I had… well set my sights on him. She called me a stalker, and worse, _horrible_ names. I wasn't honest with you Michael. It's true, I knew from when I was a teenager and I took the house tour you were fascinated by Ancient Egypt so I studied up on it and got a job at the museum. I kept thinking maybe you'd come by there someday, I just couldn't believe it when you actually did show up. I purposely went out of my way to chat you up, but you know I really did get to be interested in Egypt, I wasn't faking that to impress you. And I really do love you. Everybody said horrible things about you murdering your first wife, so you must know what it's like to have people gossiping, saying mean things about you."

She smiled. "At least now we know Rachel really is dead and that means we really are married," she added triumphantly.

Mr. Wenn took her hand. "And I never misrepresented my situation to you. There was never any doubt in my mind that Rachel must have been dead. She was an expert sailor. I knew whatever happened that night must have been deliberate on her part. I just had no way of knowing what had happened exactly."

"This is all very well but you haven't answered my question," the Doc interrupted. "What were you doing at the cottage? And why didn't you want us to know you were there?"

 _To be continued…_

Note: 68 kilograms means Penhale can bench press about 150 pounds. He does look good with his shirt off.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Penhale Interrogates the Suspect

Thursday Morning

Mrs. Wenn chewed on her thumbnail nervously.

"Why didn't you want us to know you were at the cottage?" the Doc repeated.

"I didn't want you to find out we were related, me and Aunt… Mrs. Daniels. Michael still thought our meeting at the museum was fate. It was a beautiful lie and I didn't want to spoil it." She swallowed nervously. "Can I get a Coke?"

"No," the Doc snapped, before Penhale could say anything. The constable was glad the Doc had his back but he was beginning to think his new friend was taking over the interrogation.

"Um, OK, so why I was there… well, I've been suspicious about my uncle's death. Uncle Andy was eccentric but he was kind to me when I was living here. I always felt welcome at his place. When I heard he was gone, that he dropped dead from a heart attack, and Aunt Agnes inherited Larkspur Cottage, it just didn't seem right, innit. Gran was gone by then, and they found a will, handwritten, saying his sister Agnes would get the cottage but they never got along. Doesn't make sense. When I got to Portwenn as Michael's wife, I saw my aunt was living at the cottage, driving over to the manor house every day. I heard her say she was going to Truro for the day so I decided to pay a visit when I knew the cottage would be empty. I parked the Vespa round back and found the spare key. I had a good look round, took a while because Aunt Agnes is a bit of a pack rat, just the way Uncle Andy was, but I found something all right."

She stopped and fumbled in her purse and came out with a piece of gum. Popping it in her mouth and chewing it made her seem younger than ever.

"For one thing," she continued, "Aunt Agnes has got all sorts of dried plants and flowers, and bottles of herbal concoctions all over the kitchen there, with who-knows-what in them. They have labels, but sometimes it's just a few letters or numbers written on them. That's not the important part though. The thing is, I found a box of Cuban cigars, Romeo and Julieta with just one missing. Uncle Andy loved cigars and these are posh ones, I looked them up, they were Winston Churchill's favourite. And this box was stuck in a sliding panel behind a bookcase in the spare bedroom. She thought no one would find it there but I know that cottage inside out. Doc, when you and P.C. Penhale came knocking I had just found the box. I panicked, I wanted to distract you so I could get away. Once you took off into the sunflowers I was losing the signal with the drone anyway so I grabbed the box, ran down to my Vespa, and took off."

"That's what this was all about? A packet of cigars?" Penhale said incredulously. He was eager to assert himself in this interrogation again. "You can get one at the news agents on Fore Street, you know."

"You don't understand," she said. "I think these cigars were poisoned somehow. Aunt Agnes gave them to him, he smoked one, and he died. That's what I think. Dr. Sim said it was a heart attack."

"Dr. Sim was more interested in running a tea shop than a surgery," the Doc retorted. "He probably barely even examined the man."

"That's what I thought," she said, nodding vigorously. "Everyone would just think 'oh, he was an old man, overweight, he smoked, so he just keeled over from natural causes.'"

"Cardiovascular disease is a leading cause of death in this country," the Doc said. "But if you had reason to believe otherwise in this instance, why keep it to yourself?"

Mrs. Wenn looked embarrassed. "I wanted them for insurance. I left the hidden cabinet open so my aunt would know I took the box. That way I could guarantee that she wouldn't tell anyone how I had a plan to marry Michael, or that she was my aunt."

"You were willing to cover up the alleged murder of your uncle, whom you were supposedly so fond of, to conceal your scheming?" The Doc's voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"Yeah, well," she looked down, pretending to examine her fingernails, and still chewing the gum. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You know everything, about me at least. I can give you the cigars if you want to test them. I hid them at Wenn Hall. Aunt Agnes has been quietly turning the place upside down looking but I found a good hiding spot." Mrs. Wenn looked pleased in spite of herself. "She'll never find them."

The Doc started to say something again, but Penhale managed to cut him off. "If she did commit murder, why would she keep the cigars around after the deed was done?"

"Knowing Aunt Agnes, she thought they might be useful again… You don't know her like I do. She's a bitter old witch. She got away with it once, she probably thought she might try it again sometime. I know for a fact she already messed with someone else - Jago Powell."

"What? After he threw that great party for the village? Didn't she get an invite?" Penhale said.

"Nah, nothing to do with that. It was last year when Rachel was still around. When Jago came to look at Wenn Hall as a set for his movie he had a little fling with her. Aunt Agnes knew all about it."

Mr. Wenn was visibly angry. "I knew it! I knew Rachel was sneaking around with someone then, I just didn't know who. That tosser!"

"Oh Michael, you knew she was no good. Don't tell me you still care about what that bitch was up to."

"Now Lovie, I can't help it. She was my wife then and he was a guest in my home, I have a right to be angry about it."

"Can we save the soap opera melodrama for later?" the Doc demanded.

"Yeah, save it for later," Penhale chimed in.

Mrs. Wenn scowled and continued with her story. "Aunt Agnes was jealous of Jago, she put one of her herbal concoctions in his tea that would make him act like he was drunk. She was hoping he would crash his car on the cliff road. I heard he got picked up for drink driving, kept insisting it was a bad rap, but no one believed him. Aunt Agnes was really proud of that one. Couldn't resist telling me about it, to keep me in line. She said tea was the best method to mess with people because everybody drinks tea, but she said if I ever told anyone she'd deny it."

She turned to look directly at the Doc. "She wanted to get you too, Dr. Ellingham."

"What are you talking about?"

"Aunt Agnes wasn't worried about the constable here, no offence," she said to Penhale. "But she thought you were too clever by half, Dr. Ellingham, getting onto the truth. She wanted to get you to drink some of her 'special' tea but you wouldn't go for it. Said she might try to target someone else, someone you cared about, to distract you, throw you off the scent."

The Doc looked alarmed. "Who? Did she say who?"

"She knows your old auntie, Joan Norton, but she was complaining that she doesn't see Joan lately, how your aunt doesn't get out much because hurt her leg or something. Aunt Agnes said someone else might do. Never said who though."

"Now think, Doc" Penhale said. "Agnes Daniels might target someone close to you, possibly someone who's been going round to the place where Agnes Daniels works."

 _"_ _Louisa!"_ The Doc took out his mobile and rang a number. "No answer."

"Mobile service has always been poor at the house," Mr. Wenn said. "I'll try the landline."

The Doc could hardly keep himself from grabbing the phone out of the man's hands. He pressed his ear close to Wenn's as Penhale leaned in close. They could all hear the busy signal.

"Strange," Mr. Wenn said. "I tried calling twice earlier to tell the gardener something, still busy. Perhaps someone's knocked the receiver off the hook. I've got the mobile number for the movie director, I could give him a try."

"Text him instead of calling," the Doc urged. "It's more likely to get through if the signal is weak."

"Good thinking. Al Large is probably there," Penhale said. "I've got his number. Should I try texting him?"

"Do it. And then we've got to get out there as fast as we can."

Penhale looked at the Wenns. "I reckon we can press charges later. Let's go!"

As they left the station and all piled into the police vehicle, the Doc desperately fished in his pocket and came out with a card with a number written on it. He typed in the number and a message.

"Anyone who knows any possible contact at the house, keep trying to reach them," he said. "You never know who's likely to get a message through. It's imperative we reach Louisa in time."

As urgent as the situation was, Penhale was beginning to think there was something going on with the Doc and Louisa.

 _To be continued…_


	42. Chapter 42

Previously on _Doc Martin: The Movie:_ Martin and Penhale have determined that Loveday Wenn was the one who attacked them with the drone to cover up her scheme to marry Michael Wenn and that she was related to Mrs. Daniels. She suspects Mrs. Daniels murdered her uncle, framed Jago Powell to seem like he was driving drunk, and plans to poison someone close to Martin to distract him from investigating. Martin is desperate to warn Louisa she is in danger.

Chapter 42: Meanwhile at Wenn Hall…

Thursday Midday

Louisa was not happy. She had woken up with a mild cold, in the form of a headache and sore throat, and when she heard the rain battering against her cottage windows she wanted nothing more than to spend the day in her warm bed.

Still, she roused herself by 9 a.m. to seek the comfort of a hot shower. She put on her fluffy slippers and robe, made herself some tea and toast, then did some laundry. By 11 she put on some jeans and a cosy jumper, not feeling excited enough by the prospect of meeting Jago to take much care in dressing, and drove through the chilly rain out to Wenn Hall.

"Lovely day, innit," Jago chuckled when he met her at the door. "Guess we won't be having a picnic after all. Just as well, woke up feeling a bit under the weather."

"Me too. I'd love to just relax by a fireplace today."

"I know just the place." He led her quietly past the sitting room, where Wynnie Baxter and the film crew were going through some scenes, and down the hall to a quiet wing of the house. There in the library, a fire was blazing away in the hearth, beneath a mantelpiece adorned with a row of assorted Egyptian cat statues.

"Oh, this is perfect!" Louisa couldn't help but feel impressed with the beautiful wood-panelled room, which was furnished to feel both elegant and intimate at the same time. "Are you sure we're allowed to be in here?"

"Of course," he laughed. "I'm a celebrity guest. I have the run of the house. Besides, the Wenns are out somewhere for the day."

They settled on the sofa in front of the fire. "What do you say about some tea? I could go back to the set and get some from the craft service station," Jago said.

"No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Powell." Mrs. Daniels appeared in the doorway. Louisa had the uneasy feeling she had been listening to them. "I can fetch you both some tea, if you like."

"Actually, I think I'd like some hot chocolate… If it's not too much bother," Louisa said.

"Hmmm, hot chocolate. Haven't had that in ages," Jago said. "I'll have some too."

Mrs. Daniels appeared to hesitate. "Of course, no bother at all. I can make it up special, with real Cornish cream, for the both of you." She smiled her tight, mirthless smile and departed.

"She gives me the creeps but at least she's good for something," Jago muttered. He glanced around the room and brightened up. "Did you ever think a couple of kids like us would have ended up like this?"

"Like what?"

"Just look at this place. Creepy old housekeeper to make up the fire and bring us hot chocolate on a gloomy day. Fresh cut flowers daily." He got up to sniff a bouquet on an end table. "Roses in, if I'm not mistaken, a 19th Century Chinese vase. We're sitting on an antique sofa. I believe that's a John Constable landscape on that wall. Those Egyptian kitties look pretty old too. I've acquired a taste for some of the finer things in life now that I've got a bit of success, and I know quality when I see it."

"You're right," Louisa said. She went over to one shelf and looked at a leather bound volume. "This looks like a first edition 'Price and Prejudice.' I'm almost afraid to touch it."

"Go on, pick it up. You only live once," he laughed. "I'm good for the damage if you spill something on it."

She took the volume and sat beside him again, carefully leafing through the pages.

"I've really missed Cornwall," Jago continued. "I'd love to have a place like this here. Wenn is having financial troubles, did you know that? That's why he agreed to let us film here, it takes a lot of money to keep a place like this going and some of these old money families can't handle it anymore. He doesn't want to think about having to sell off some of these old heirlooms. If he can't keep it going I might just make him an offer. I could buy this house and everything in it. Back when I was in school here, none of the Wenns would have given me the time of day, not that they would have been stuck in a piddling state-run school with the likes of me. And to think he's dependent on my film production to save his family's estate now."

"You've come a lot farther than I have. I'm just the head of a piddling state school," she said sarcastically.

"Don't take it that way, you've got plenty to be proud of," he reassured her. "Look at you. I remember when you were a skinny girl who had to shop for your own clothes at the Salvation Army. I'll bet you learned to cook because your old Dad couldn't be depended on for more than opening a tin of baked beans most nights."

"I'm embarrassed to admit how right you are." Louisa carefully laid the old book aside.

"And did anybody in your family give you any encouragement or support to go to university? I'm right again, of course. Where would you be if you hadn't had the brains and determination to do that? Probably married to a grizzled old fisherman with a pack of kids by now and struggling to pay the mortgage, or better yet a single mum working as a waitress with no hope of getting a mortgage. And you've had to live down defending your old Dad all these years only to have him show up again with more trouble in tow."

"So you heard about that," she said. "I guess the gossip mill has been at work again."

"You know it never stops in a place like this."

"Yeah, Dad didn't mean any harm, not to me anyway, but he could have gotten us killed," she sighed. "And to think he was the _responsible_ parent in my family."

"Excuse me, sir and madam. Your hot chocolate." Mrs. Daniels came in bearing a silver tray with two bone china cups. Louisa was delighted to see the cups were topped with whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder and there was also a dish of chocolate digestives. The housekeeper set the tray on the table and discretely disappeared.

"Be careful, it's very hot," Jago said, holding his cup to his lips. "I think the whipped cream keeps the heat in." He set the cup back down, untasted. "So things haven't been all bad for you lately. I heard you were going out with Danny Steel again. There were rumours you two were engaged for a while."

"Well, I'm not embarrassed to say that bit of gossip is completely wrong. I was seeing Danny recently, and he did ask me to marry him, but I never seriously considered it. He's back in London now."

"So you sent him packing. That surprises me. Seems like you and old Dan would have made a beautiful couple."

"Not so beautiful. Danny was as changeable as the weather. He kept talking about how he wanted to settle down back here in the village, he was even fixing up his Mum's old house for us, then he found out he won some project in London so he was suddenly eager for us to move there. And he's found religion lately too, always going on about the Lord moving in mysterious ways."

"So Danny Steel turned out to be a God-botherer!" Jago laughed.

"He wasn't that bad, he means well," Louisa conceded. "It's just not what I'm looking for. You know, he didn't even have enough sense to wear a dust mask when he was sanding the floors at his Mum's house. He ended up making himself really sick, he could have died, but luckily … things turned out OK."

She thought back to how when Danny collapsed, unable to breathe, Martin had saved the day once again despite his obvious dislike of Danny, and how she had snipped at Martin as the ambulance prepared to take Danny away, but this didn't seem like a good time to get into all that. She lifted up her cup to blow on it but it was still too hot to drink.

"Sounds like something my Dad would have done," Jago said. "He didn't have enough sense not to drive around the barriers at a train crossing. Course he was blind drunk at the time. Didn't turn out too lucky for him, did it."

"Guess I should count my blessings my Dad only ended up in prison, instead of…" Louisa couldn't bring herself to say the word she was thinking.

Jago seemed to read her thoughts. "Yeah, dead. And your Mum ended up in Spain instead of the morgue."

She knew that his mother had died of a heroin overdose when he was a struggling young actor in London.

"I don't mean it to sound like that," he said, seeing her sad expression. "It's not a competition to see who had the most crap parents."

"It must hurt even more that she never got to see you become such a success," Louisa said.

"Yeah, well, it's her own fault for making such a mess of her life," his obvious sadness offset the bitterness of his tone. "You know, a few years ago the bloke she was living with when she died contacted me. He's in Australia now. Wanted some money to keep from selling his story to the gossip rags. He was the one that supplied her with the heroin that killed her. I wanted to fly down there and strangle him with my own hands."

"So what did you do?"

He shrugged, resigned. "I paid him. Figured he'd blow it all on drugs and go out the same way my Mum did. That's what I told myself anyway." He had been avoiding her eyes, but now he looked directly at her. "You know, you're the only one outside of my lawyers that knows about that. I'm trusting _you_ not to go to the tabloids."

"Don't worry about me."

He smiled. "I've known some dodgy people in my life, but I'd never worry about you Louisa. You're solid as a rock, and sweet as a stick of rock."

She felt a pang of guilt when he said that. She didn't feel solid or sweet at all, at least when it came to dealing with… No, she didn't want to think about Martin right now. To cover her feelings, she touched her cup on the silver tray. "Still a bit hot. Getting better though."

"So, um…" Jago was being so honest with her Louisa was reluctant to bring up what she had read on the gossip website but it was still nagging at her. "Your _urgent business_ in New York, it involved a paternity test, didn't it."

"Oh, so you heard about that little mess."

"That seems like a cavalier way of describing it. Do you actually think she's lying about you being the father or…"

"Or what?"

Louisa couldn't hold back what was bothering her any longer. "Or are you just being difficult because you don't want to take responsibility?"

"Why would I take responsibility if it turns out the kid is not my responsibility?"

"But what if he is? You don't want to be… well, like _your_ Dad was. Running away from a problem." Or like my Mum, she thought to herself.

"Look, if the kid is mine of course I'll help support him. But the mother is a problem. Lesley Larson is one of those teenage model-actresses that grew up to be a celebrity train wreck, in and out of rehab. I don't know what I was thinking when we got together that weekend, but it's not good for me to be around someone like that."

"You shouldn't be so negative."

"I'm just like my Mum, she was always jumping from one boyfriend to the next. Those gossip rags mock me for having a new girlfriend every month." He laughed sarcastically. "I can't tell if the tabloid journos are prudes or just jealous, but it's true, I can't seem to have a stable relationship, I'm not even sure I want one. Why should I care anyway, there's always someone new around the corner."

"But… but, you _should_ care. Maybe you're attracted to damaged types, or maybe you unconsciously sabotage your relationships, or maybe you just can't help fleeing when things get difficult."

"I know I'm not perfect, but I'm not like you Louisa."

"What are you talking about?"

"You came out of a dysfunctional family but you're so stable. You've got a responsible job, you're a pillar of your little community. Everybody loves you."

"Oh, I don't know about that." The whole conversation was making her very uncomfortable, and Jago seemed unsettled as well.

There was an awkward silence, and they both reached for their hot chocolate at the same time. Louisa was relieved that the temperature was finally just right. They both raised their cups, eager for that first comforting sip.

" _Excuse me_. Are you Louisa Glasson?"

The flat American accent distracted them from the hot chocolate. Wynnie Barlow appeared in the library doorway, mobile phone in hand.

"Wynnie! Are you following me around?" Jago was clearly annoyed by her appearance.

"Get over yourself, Jago. I didn't even go to your crazy masked ball, why would I follow you around," she said, dismissively. "I have a message from Dr. Ellingham."

"A message?" Louisa was very confused by this turn of events.

"I was on break so I was trying to get a signal on my cell phone. This place is in a terrible dead spot. I went up to the third floor, I suppose that's the second floor to you Brits, and I managed to get a signal there. I wanted to check on my kids. I'm a really hands-on mom, When I'm on location I call the nanny every day to see how they're doing."

"What about Dr. Ellingham's message?" Louisa interrupted.

"I'm getting to that. So I get the signal and this text pops up." Wynnie poked at her phone and then read from it. _"'Urgent, find Louisa Glasson, tell her don't drink any tea! Stay away from Mrs. Daniels! Matter of life or death! Explain when we get there. Ellingham.'_ I don't know what this all about but I figured I should find you and tell you."

Louisa looked at the cup in her hand and frowned. "But this isn't tea, it's hot chocolate. Is that OK to drink?"

"How should I know? I don't touch dairy. You shouldn't either, just to be sure. Anyway, I'm just the messenger. The doctor made it sound pretty serious."

"What about the biscuits?" Jago picked one up.

Wynnie made a face. "Probably full of sugar and gluten and empty calories. So no. That stuff'll kill you."

 _To be continued…_

Note: God-botherer is an overzealous religious person. Journo is slang for journalist.


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43: In the Underworld

Thursday Midday

The police vehicle flew into the courtyard of Wenn Hall and Penhale swerved about looking for a place to park amid the various vehicles left haphazardly there. "Park anywhere!" Martin shouted. He shoved the door open before the vehicle had even come to a stop, and sprinted across the pavement, up the wide stone steps, and through the front door, well ahead of everyone else.

He ran through the front hallway, past the cameras, microphones, and lights, pushing past the extras and the two placid cocker spaniels, who once again spotted him and leapt up with happy barks. He ran through the downstairs, shouting _"Louisa! Louisa!"_ as Penhale, the Wenns, and the dogs followed close on his heels.

" _Mar_ -tin?" He heard a familiar voice answer. He followed the sound into the library, shooing the dogs away and shoving aside the blonde woman in the doorway to see Louisa and Jago sitting together on the sofa.

" _Mar_ -tin?" Louisa repeated. "What's this all about?"

"Did you drink any tea?"

"No, and they didn't drink any hot chocolate either, thanks to me getting your message," said the blonde woman he recognized as the American actress. "And _you're welcome_ , by the way," she added.

"Hm," Martin said, scowling at the china cups with their topping of whipped cream still intact. "Penhale, find a container to collect the hot chocolate so it can be sent to the police lab to be tested. I think it's best you search the kitchen too, for incriminating substances."

While Penhale went about his business, Martin attempted to explain the situation to Louisa.

"Where is that hag Mrs. Daniels?" Jago demanded. "She did seem a little too eager to be helpful."

"She must be around somewhere," Mr. Wenn said. "Her old car is parked out front."

"Martin, how do you know Mrs. Wenn is even telling the truth?" Louisa whispered, pulling him aside and trying not to look at the Wenns. "Mrs. Daniels isn't the most pleasant person to have around, but her niece could be lying to make her own awful behaviour seem not so bad by comparison."

"The crucial thing now is to find the box of cigars Mrs. Wenn referred to. That could help establish her credibility," Martin said.

Penhale had reappeared by Martin's side. "I've secured the evidence in the boot of my vehicle, Doc. No sign of the latest suspect so far."

Mrs. Wenn seemed to relish playing the lady of the manor house. She drew herself up, glancing at Louisa, and said, "I made some poor judgments but I can prove what I was saying. I know Aunt Agnes has been going through the house trying to find the cigar box but I came up with a hiding spot she would never figure out. Come on."

She went up to a bookcase and reached to a high shelf to move a small lacquered statue of a falcon, feeling behind it till she pressed what appeared to be a button concealed there. There was a click from deep inside the wall and the bookcase slowly swung outward on hidden hinges, drawing a collective reaction from the others. Behind it was a heavy wooden door.

"My great-grandfather was part of the team that found King Tut's Tomb, though he never got the credit Lord Carnarvon and Howard Carter did," Mr. Wenn explained. "He was the one that started the family's collection of Egyptian antiquities. He was so obsessed he had a small group of workmen wall off a section of the cellar and dig it even deeper to recreate the tomb right here in the house. He paid them handsomely and swore them to secrecy. That was back in the 1920s so everyone outside the family who knew about it is long gone."

"Michael let me in on the secret when we first arrived here after our honeymoon," Mrs. Wenn said. She took a small alabaster vase from another shelf and pulled out an old-fashioned ornate key from it, which she presented to Penhale, gesturing for him to open the door. It revealed a stone staircase heading down into darkness. She clearly relished the drama of the moment as even Martin, in spite of himself, gasped along with the others in surprise.

She flipped a wall switch to illuminate the way and walked down. Mr. Wenn, Penhale, Jago, Wynnie, and Louisa followed her down the steep steps, with Martin bringing up the rear, feeling uneasy about the descent. The air felt dusty and smelt faintly of decay, as if it were a real tomb, he thought. He had to duck to follow the group through a stone doorway, then further descending along a dimly lit corridor, and finally into a stone antechamber.

"My brother and I used to dare each other to come down here when we were kids," Mr. Wenn said. "Family legend has it that Great-Granddad would spend his days down here when he was old and grey, reliving his time spent exploring the Valley of Kings. He recreated the tomb and its contents in extraordinary detail, except of course the electric lighting, and he made the ceiling higher so he could stand without hitting his head. The original wasn't made for the living to inhabit so the ancients kept it low and small. Lucky for me Great-Granddad took the living into account, and lucky for you too, eh Doc?"

Martin said nothing. As the tallest of the group, he could stand upright in the stone walled room, but he was acutely aware that the ceiling was a mere inch or so above the top of his head. He had the unpleasant sensation it was pressing down on him. The lighting was better here and he could see the room was filled with curious objects, including chariot wheels and what appeared to be a bed decorated with a sphinx-like creature with the head of a crocodile.

They followed Mrs. Wenn to the right as into what was clearly the burial chamber, painted with ancient scenes on the walls and ceiling, and adorned with gilded shrines surrounding a massive granite sarcophagus. The group stood in awed silence as they took in their surroundings.

"This is the tomb as it looked when Howard Carter and his team first uncovered it after 3,300 years, before all the really good treasures were taken away to the Cairo Museum," Mr. Wenn said, with evident pride. "Great-Granddad took all this ancient Egyptian stuff really seriously. Family legend says he even wanted to be buried down here but Great-Gran wouldn't hear of it."

"I knew this was the one place in the house Mrs. Daniels didn't know about," Mrs. Wenn said. "I wanted to hide the cigar box in the sarcophagus but I realized I could never shift the stone lid by myself so I put it just here."

She reached into the narrow area between the back of the sarcophagus and the wall and pulled out a parcel wrapped in paper bag. Inside was a cigar box. She opened the lid to reveal the box was full, with just one missing. The cigars in their clear wrappers gleamed in the harsh electric light, looking strangely anachronistic in the ancient setting. She presented the box to Penhale. "There's the evidence."

At that moment, they were plunged into total darkness.

From out beyond the chamber and above the stairs came the clang of a door being slammed shut and a large antique key turning.

"Penhale! You left the key in the lock!" Martin shouted.

"I didn't think we'd need it, Doc!"

"Is there any other way out?!" Martin demanded.

"No!" Mrs. Wenn squeaked, suddenly sounding like a nervous teenager again.

"I told you," Mr. Wenn said, "this area was walled off from the rest of the cellar. It's a replica of a tomb. A very authentic replica," he added grimly.

"Martin, she must have caught on we were onto her. She's got us trapped down here," Louisa cried out. "Now, don't panic," came Jago's voice, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Doc, I know you don't do well in situations like this," Penhale said. "Take a deep breath and try to stay calm."

Martin took a deep breath, then another. Even after a moment or two his eyes still weren't adjusting to the darkness, it was as total and absolute as in a tin mine, or being locked in a cupboard under the stairs, but he smiled a little to himself. If anything, he could hear the anxiety in Penhale's voice, however Martin realized he himself _was_ staying calm and in control. He had been through this situation before and now he knew he could handle it.

He could feel a hand grasp his and he instantly recognized Louisa's touch. " _Mar_ -tin, what are we going to do?" That she had turned to him for guidance rather than her actor friend boosted his confidence still more.

Martin took out his phone and shone its dim light in the chamber. "Follow me."

They all lit their phones and he led them back out of the burial chamber, through the antechamber, and up the sloping corridor and the stairs. "Hey, we're in here," shouted Wynnie. "Somebody! Help!" Jago chimed in.

"No one will be able to hear us from here," Mr. Wenn said.

"Don't worry, folks," Penhale announced, suddenly sounding very reassured. "I've seen the Doc's handiwork in this type of situation. We're in the presence of a master lock picker."

Martin's confidence began to waiver. He felt in his pocket for the tiny screwdriver he still had with him but he knew it wouldn't be adequate to the task at hand. He guessed the door had a rather common double cylinder lock that could be opened from the inside but even that required more tools than he had on hand. He pushed against the door, it was far too heavy to kick open.

Ignoring the impatient group behind him, he had a sudden inspiration and put his eye to the keyhole. Yes! The housekeeper had left the key in the lock! He took his crisply starched handkerchief from his pocket, unfolded it, and carefully slid it under the door, positioned just below the lock, all the while hoping the housekeeper was not out there watching, ready to interfere with his plan.

Then he poked the tiny screwdriver gently through the lock, pushing the key out. It fell on the handkerchief with a muffled thud and he slowly pulled it toward him, hoping the antique key could fit under the door. Success!

He turned the key in the lock and it clicked open. He pulled the handle and was out and free. They piled out in a bunch after him, Penhale still clutching the cigar box, all of them elated for the moment. But just for a moment. Instead of light and fresh air, there was…

"Smoke!" Martin shouted. "She's lit a fire. Everyone out!"

He grabbed Louisa's hand and they fled for the front door, with the others close on their heels.

The smoke was rapidly filling the ground floor. The film crew had already escaped to the front courtyard. In the chaos as everyone ran about in a panic, trying to get a safe distance away from the house and out of the rain, fire brigade sirens could be heard approaching. Pauline emerged from the crowd, soaked from the rain but with a pleased grin. She pushed past Martin and grabbed Jago's and Wynnie's hands, shaking them simultaneously.

"It's such an honour to meet you Mr. Powell and you Ms. Baxter, I'm your biggest fans. I mean, I'm your biggest fan for each of you," she said, giddily still shaking their hands. "We didn't know where you were in the house, everyone was worried, but you've got yourselves out safe. Everything's under control now, thanks to Action Man Al Large!

 _To be continued…_


	44. Chapter 44

_Previously:_ Martin and Penhale have learned that Loveday Wenn was the one who attacked them with the drone and that her aunt Mrs. Daniels possibly murdered her uncle, framed Jago Powell to seem like he was drunk driving, and planned to poison Louisa and Jago to distract Martin from investigating. She also provided Rachel Wenn with the poison she used to commit suicide and may have also tried to commit other poisonings. Martin and Penhale drive to rescue Louisa at Wenn Hall but the whole group ends up getting locked in a cellar crypt. Martin overcomes his claustrophobia and figures a way out. However, Mrs. Daniels has apparently set the manor house on fire to make her escape. Fortunately Al Large is on the scene in his role as a movie extra.

Chapter 44: Action Man Al Large

Thursday Midday

"What are you talking about?" Martin demanded.

"He's a hero! It was just like a movie." Pauline finally let go of the actors' hands and grabbed her boyfriend by the arm to pull him over. "Tell them, Al!"

"Just saw things gettin' out of control and tried to set 'em right," Al said, scratching the back of his neck. "Saw you Doc, runnin' in to find Louisa here, so I went in to see what was what. I smelled smoke in the kitchen, and saw someone left the landline off the hook there, so I set it to rights and called 999. That's about it."

"No there's way more to it," Pauline eagerly continued. "He's too modest to tell you himself but Al saved the day. You see, he was taking a break from his new job - as a _movie star_ \- to see if he could get a mobile signal to call his Dad. He didn't know we were already on our way to see him. The rain let up so he climbed up that little hill behind the garden and he said he got a peculiar message from the Doc to stop Louisa from drinking tea, matter of life and death, and watch out for Mrs. Daniels, and so on. So he comes down the hill and goes into the house looking for Louisa, only there's nobody to be seen, right? And he smells smoke! So he goes into the kitchen and sees someone has left the hob turned up full with a bunch of kitchen towels on top of it and there's _a blazing fire_ , and he turns the hob off and grabs a fire extinguisher and blasts it, then he goes and grabs the phone that's been left off the hook and calls 999… well he already told you that part."

She paused for a breath as the sirens grew very loud. The fire brigade sped into courtyard and stopped in front of the house where the Wenns ran over to direct the firefighters.

"Right, so Al runs to the film set and yells _'Fire! Fire!'_ " she continued. "And that's when me and Bert arrived, thinking we were going to spend a nice holiday watching our Al, in his new job as a _movie star_ ," Pauline clearly loved saying that, "and we're walking into the house just as everybody comes running out and it's raining harder now so we all run under the trees to get out of it, and then out comes Mrs. Daniels, only instead of heading for the trees like everyone else she runs over to her car. Except Penhale is parked right in back of her blocking her in, so she goes to his police car, which has the driver's window left open so it's getting all wet inside - good job there, Joe - and turns out he's left the keys in the ignition."

"You left the keys behind there too?" Martin was incredulous.

"It was in the heat of the moment, Doc," the constable replied, looking shame-faced. "No time to lose."

By now Bert emerged from the crowd in the courtyard, also soaked and grinning. "Tell 'em how Al saved the day, Pauline!"

"I'm telling them, Bert. So Mrs. Daniels gets in the police vehicle…"

"P.C. Penhale left the keys in there," Bert interrupted, "and she's tryin' to start it up only it won't start the first time she turns it, and it looks very suspicious, with her trying to take the police car. So we're all watchin' and Al calmly strolls over, all wet from the rain, reaches in the open window and pulls the keys out and pockets them. Mrs. D. is furious, she's leanin' out and she's hittin' him, trying to get the keys back, and he sees Joe's left his handcuffs on the floor just there and so he grabs them and handcuffs her wrist to the steering wheel. Just like in a movie it was, starrin' our Al!"

"That's what I said, it was just like in a movie!" Pauline said.

"Well, I figured she was up to no good, seein' as the Doc sent a warnin about her," Al said. "And it _was_ suspicious, what with the fire and all."

During Pauline and Bert's enthusiastic telling of Al's exploits, it became clear some sort of argument was starting up by the police vehicle. The two actors had gone over there, seemingly out of a desire to escape their biggest fan, and a crowd had gathered to watch a red-faced and furious Mrs. Daniels now in a full-out shouting match with Jago Powell and the Wenns.

"This isn't even the first time you tried to poison me!" Jago was saying. "You must have put some concoction in my tea to get back at me, just enough to get me driving erratic along the cliff road. You reckoned I'd get killed and it would look like drink driving, like it was my own fault. I told P.C. Mylow I'd had nothing to drink but he didn't believe me. Everybody thinks I was off the wagon, the tabloids were all over it, and it cost me a lucrative contract to do an insurance company commercial."

"Since when do big Hollywood movie stars do commercials?" she countered.

"It was in Japan. Actors do them all the time there, as long as they don't air anywhere else. Anyway, it was _your_ doing all along!"

"What's all this then?" Penhale demanded.

"You were jealous of him and Rachel, weren't you," Mrs. Wenn said.

"Yeah, now I know it was you Rachel was having the affair with!" Mr. Wenn shouted at Jago.

"Yes." Jago wasn't too proud to admit this. "She wasn't happy with you Michael, you must have known that."

Mrs. Daniels glared at Jago. "You were always a bad kid way back when, now you come back into town swanning about, playing the big movie star. Mr. Wenn agreed to open the house and grounds to your film crew because he needed the money, and you repay him by shagging his wife. And you think you're too good for the rest of us. Yes, I put something in your tea to teach you a lesson."

"So you were jealous of the attention Mr. Powell was getting from the first Mrs. Wenn, then," Penhale said.

"Jealous?" She spat out the word. "He meant nothing to her! He's just a jumped up little tosser, no matter how much people fawn over him."

"We had broken it off by then anyway," Jago said to Mr. Wenn. "Not that it's any excuse, but that wasn't even why this old witch was mad at me. Not really, was it?" He goaded Mrs. Daniels. "Go on, tell them the real reason."

She refused to speak so he went on. "She had a movie script she wanted me to look at. So I agreed to read it, for Rachel's sake, and I tried to get through it, I really tried, but it was rubbish."

Mrs. Daniels's face softened and she looked for a moment like she might actually cry. "I put my heart and soul into that script. It was a beautiful story… about the forbidden love between a mature woman and the younger woman she mentors. You could never understand."

Jago scoffed. "You're mad as a hatter! There was no sense of setting, barely any plot, the characters were one dimensional _at best_. And the dialogue? _Atrocious!_ You might as well have typed 'all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy' over and over, that's how bad it was."

The crowd laughed. Mrs. Daniels's expression changed in an instant to fury.

"Right! It's all easy for a tosser like you. You've got looks and money but you came from nothing just like me, you're no better than me. I just meant to shake you up a bit. You're still here, everybody still swoons at the sight of you. Didn't hurt you much, did it."

"But you meant to poison us this time, me and Louisa!" he countered.

"I've got nothing against Miss Glasson," she insisted. "I just needed something to distract the doctor. That police constable was easy to fool, but the doctor was getting too close for comfort. I had to do something. You were just collateral damage this time."

Penhale bristled. Martin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain that was soaking everyone there.

"And what about me?" Mr. Wenn butted in. "Not enough you tried to burn down my home, with me and all these other people in it, I might add, but it isn't even the first time you tried to kill me! What did I do to deserve this? I gave you a job when Rachel asked, I've always been a good employer, and I even gave you a rise when Loveday - your _niece_ \- wanted me to."

Mrs. Daniels scoffed at the mention of her niece. "She never did me any favours. Her mum was my sister, she always bullied and teased me… because I was different. I shouldn't have set the fire. I panicked, suddenly it was all closing in on me and I thought I could destroy the evidence."

"And all our lives along with it," Mr. Wenn added, grimly.

"Panicking as an excuse for murderous behaviour seems to run in the family," Martin murmured, but no one seemed to hear him.

"And now you're under investigation for murdering your own brother!" Penhale said.

"I shouldn't have done it. I know I shouldn't have done any of it, but what's done is done. You could never understand how it's been for me. My mother had to get married young because she was pregnant with me, and she resented me for it. I was an unwanted child and I was _different_. She doted on my younger brother and sister but she wanted nothing to do with me."

Martin shuddered again from a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. In spite of himself, he felt a strange sympathy for this disturbed woman. Her angry, erratic demeanour was in sharp contrast to her usual cold, blank affect. He wondered if she might be suffering from undiagnosed bipolar disorder.

"My father was always stricter with me than the others. I was the ugly duckling, the odd one, who had to be stuck in the cupboard without my supper for misbehaving. When I got older and it was clear I didn't favour men they disowned me. When I met Rachel she was the bright star in my sky. She would never give me the time of day, but working for her, taking care of her, just being near her was enough. I understand why she decided to kill herself, but when I heard she said those terrible, cruel things about me in her final note… something in me snapped. You could never understand."

"No, I don't understand, and at this point I don't want to," Mr. Wenn interrupted her. "You even bloody poisoned my dog, for God's sake!"

"I never did!" she said. "That wasn't my doing. I may have done some bad things but I had nothing to do with you or the poor dog taking ill that time. That must have been nature just taking its course."

"But what about _me?_ " Wynnie interrupted. "I had terrible stomach pains after you gave me herbal tea for my migraine. I simply could not concentrate on my acting craft!"

"You!" The housekeeper retorted. "I helped you out with your headache, I didn't do anything else to you. Maybe you're just a needy, insecure hypochondriac!"

Wynnie recoiled as if she had been slapped and as she prepared to strike back verbally Penhale finally decided to step in and take control of the situation. "Agnes Daniels, I am hereby arresting you on a charge of… I can't even list everything at this point. How about arson to start? We'll get you arraigned on that, and then get the rest sorted. My work here is done."

"You bloody moron," she snarled at him. "You'd never have figured out any of this on your own. It was _you!_ " She turned on Martin directly. "If I just could have gotten _you_ out of the way…"

Martin took a step back, all sympathy gone now, and instinctively moved protectively in front of Louisa to make she was well away from the angry woman.

"I guess my work here isn't done," Penhale said. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to call for backup."

"What for?" Martin asked. "You've got her dead to rights, she's not going anywhere."

"That's just it. She's madder than a hive of bees. I can't exactly drive with her like that and I'm afraid to unlock those handcuffs."

 _To be continued…_

Note: 999 is the equivalent of 911 in the U.S. Also, I couldn't resist having Jago lose a chance to do insurance commercial the way MC did with Churchill Insurance a few years ago (although with MC it was due to too many speeding tickets).


	45. Chapter 45

_Previously:_ Louisa has reconnected with her old friend Jago Powell, who is now a famous actor filming a remake of _Rebecca_ in Portwenn, the village where he once lived as a teenager. To make amends after a quarrel, he offered to take her on a picnic which was postponed due to rain. In the library of Wenn Hall, they shared an intimate conversation about their dysfunctional childhoods but Louisa was displeased by celebrity gossip about Jago fighting a paternity claim by a has-been actress with drug abuse problems. Their conversation was interrupted when all hell broke loose in the house as Mrs. Daniels sought to escape arrest.

Just a reminder, this story takes place right after the events of the TV movie "On The Edge" but just before the start of S3E1 ("The Apple Doesn't Fall"/"Tick Tock").

Chapter 45: The Picnic

Friday Morning

"See those three houses there? The one on the left, used to be a lovely old fellow who lived there, and he had this pretty little greenfinch. It used to sit on his finger and sing to him. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw."

It was a lovely, warm morning on the grassy area overlooking the rugged cliffs; the perfect time and place to enjoy the sunshine and the view of the village and the harbour, with a charming companion. However, as Louisa listened to him, she had the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

"I think I remember him," she said. "That was old Mr. Goldsworthy, wasn't it."

"That's right," Jago said.

"It's funny, I feel like I've heard that story before. I had a weird dream a few weeks ago. I was sitting in this very spot, having a picnic, with… someone, and he was telling me the exact same thing, about the old man with a greenfinch. It started out as this wonderful dream, the man was so delightful, and everything was so romantic and perfect, and then it was like the ground started shaking and there was this earthquake. It came roaring right up the cliff, and split the ground between us, and I fell in the crevice. I was falling and falling, and gasping for breath, calling for him to help me… I thought the man was reaching out to me, trying to save me, but then he just started yelling at me, these terrible, ridiculous insults, and things that made no sense. Then I woke up."

Jago unwrapped the last cucumber sandwich and offered it to her. "Sounds like it made quite an impression on you."

"I don't usually dwell on my dreams," she said, nibbling at the sandwich. "But this one was so vivid I wrote it down in my journal, that's how I remember it so well."

"Well, you do remember that this is the exact spot where we had our romantic picnic years ago. That's why I wanted to have another picnic here, for old times' sake."

"How could I forget?"

"And I may have said something to you then about old man Goldsworthy and his little finches. My Mum and I lived next door to him for a while. He always kept a greenfinch, sometimes a pair of them. When one died he would replace it, he loved them so much."

"Makes sense. Maybe subconsciously I was remembering that picnic with you."

"So I can't help wondering if… this vivid dream is somehow about _me_? Am _I_ the unhelpful man who was yelling at you?" Jago seemed genuinely puzzled at this idea.

Louisa laughed. "Trust me, it wasn't you. I may have been having an unconscious flashback to our picnic but…" She hesitated and felt herself blushing. She could picture how Martin was dressed in the dream, with his shirt open at the neck and sleeves casually rolled up, so uncharacteristic of him but exactly how Jago was dressed now.

"Oh, I get it. Let me guess, it was _Doctor Strange_ , wasn't it." Now it was Jago's turn to laugh. "Why do you think he was yelling at you in the dream? I mean, I get that he's pretty irascible but he seems rather fond of you. Are the feelings mutual?"

"I suppose so, but it's all so confusing. We had argued about something. And then when I was having the dream he happened to be out in the street below my window, yelling at a dog. That got incorporated into my dream."

She poured herself some lemonade, aware of how silly her story made Martin sound.

"But we've shared some pretty intense experiences recently," she continued. "A few days before I had the dream, he had saved the life of one of my students. He performed emergency surgery in the back of a moving ambulance, despite having a…"

"A what?"

Louisa felt a pang of guilt, remembering how she had laughed about Martin's problem with the herbalist Sandra Mylow, only to find Martin had overheard them.

"Um, well… everyone around here knows already so I'm not spilling a secret. He has a phobia of blood. The sight and smell of it make him physically ill."

Jago stifled another laugh. "Sorry. How did he make it through med school?"

"The phobia came about later. He was a successful surgeon in London but he developed this terrible problem so he gave it up and moved here to be our GP. So when he saved Peter, that's my student's name, it was really, well… _heroic_. There's just no other word for it. And he's saved lots of other people around here, putting himself at risk sometimes. He even climbed down a steep cliff to save a very sick man who had fallen. Martin has some problems, but he's something special. I've simply never met anyone like him."

"Sorry about the _Doctor Strange_ wisecrack. He sounds amazing. I've had some success in my career but I sort of think Mrs. Daniels was right about one thing, I _am_ a jumped up little tosser that came from nothing. Actors like to speak about the 'art' and 'craft' of acting but it's just dressing up and pratting around. I don't care if it's Dame Judi Dench or me, we're all monkeys in a zoo and people stroll past us and either linger to be entertained or they don't."

He sat up on the blanket and cut a Scotch egg into quarters to share.

"People fawn over me but someday they'll get tired of me and move onto to something new. I'm really not very smart, you know," he confided. "I played a doctor in a TV show once, back when I was starting out. They had to write out the medical terms phonetically and tape them to the wall behind the camera so I could sound like I knew what I was talking about. Your Martin, that's someone that does something real and important."

"Well, you're very good at what you do," she protested. "Movies and TV shows can bring happiness into people's lives. Everyone needs an escape from real life sometimes."

"Hah!" He dismissed that idea with a grin and they both sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the view.

"I've really missed Cornwall," he said finally. "I know I said I'd love to have a place like Wenn Hall here, but forget it now. Too much bad karma. Anyway, you know that thing we were talking about, the bit of business I had to take care of back in New York?"

"Did you get the paternity test results already?"

"No. But I was thinking about what you said yesterday in the library… before all hell broke loose."

"I suppose I was out of line, saying you were running away from your problems when you don't even know if you're the father."

"No, you were right actually. I've given this some thought. When I went to visit Lesley and I saw the baby I knew right away. He looked a lot like me at that age, like the photos my Mum had of me as a baby. But even more so, he was the spitting image of my Mum in her old baby photos. It was like I recognized him right away, like a long lost relative, I just couldn't admit it to myself. It really bothered me what you said, that maybe I was just being difficult because I didn't want to take responsibility. When I saw the kid it scared me, the idea of fatherhood. I didn't feel ready, and I was especially scared of being a father to a kid who will probably inherit the same addiction problems me and my Mum had, and my Dad too with the booze. And I didn't want to be like my Dad, running away from my problems… and my responsibilities. I realized I just can't leave this kid to be raised by a celebrity train wreck of a mother, with her own addiction problems."

He poured out the last of the lemonade into their cups.

"I know I said I can't be around someone who isn't handling their addiction problems, and there's nothing I can do for Lesley unless she can take responsibility for herself, but I can be there for this little boy, and not just by sending money. I'm going to seek joint custody. That means I'll be spending a lot more time in New York. Like I said, I know I'm not perfect. I'm just a dumb actor… but I think I can be a decent Dad."

"What if it turns out you're not actually the father?"

"I don't think that's likely, but if it does turn out that way, well, I can still be a good friend to Lesley and her son. She's really just a kid herself, but a decent one at heart, and God knows she'll need someone on her side."

Louisa was blinking back the tears at this point. "You were such a good friend to _me_ back in school." She dabbed at her eyes with a serviette. "It meant so much to me then. And you never forget your first love."

"I never really got over you, Louisa. Our lives have taken such different paths." He smiled and sighed, wiping his own eyes with his sleeve. "I'm afraid I've never been one to settle down with one partner. Who knows what changes fatherhood could bring though."

He glanced at his watch. "Time I was back on the set." They began to pack up the picnic things. "And what about you?" he said. "Motherhood in your future, d'you think?"

"I…I really hope so."

"You'd make a lovely mother, Louisa. Give things another try with Martin. He's something special… and so are you."

Jago reached out and caressed her cheek, then moved in closer. Once again Louisa felt a wave of déjà vu, but there was no earth tremor to cause a gaping rift between them, only a gentle farewell kiss between two old friends.

 _To be continued…_

Note: "Actors like to speak about the 'art' and 'craft' of acting but it's just dressing up and pratting around…" I'm paraphrasing something MC said in an interview I once read.


	46. Chapter 46

_Previously:_ Martin and Penhale's investigation into a series of suspicious poisonings started when the owner of Wenn Hall reported falling ill and his dog dying suddenly. After many twists and turns the investigation led to the arrest of the housekeeper Mrs. Daniels, after she locked them and others in the Egyptian cellar crypt and set fire to the house. Loveday Wenn has also been arrested for attacking Martin and Penhale with a drone to distract them from learning about her scheme to marry the widowed owner of Wenn Hall. Along the way, Martin had also encountered the herbalist Sandra Mylow, who tested her love potion on him and the inhabitants of Portwenn at a masked ball. Now filming with the actors Jago Powell and Wynnie Barlow is wrapping up at Wenn Hall.

Chapter 46: A Fallen Leaf

Friday Midday

Martin peeked out the front door. All seemed to be calm out on the stone terrace. Perhaps the dreaded Gull-zilla had flown the coop at last. Medical bag in hand, Martin went out to the Lexus and drove off toward the moor road and out to Wenn Hall.

He parked in the courtyard again. It was quite a change from the day before. The rain clouds had blown away, the sun had broken through, and the sky was clear. It was a lovely warm day, full of sunshine. The film crew were at work again, outside in front of the house. He stalked through the area toward the front door, thankful there appeared to be no dogs on set today.

Martin paused when he saw Wynnie Barlow open the door to her trailer and beckon to him. He hesitated, then grudgingly went over.

"Dr. Ellingham, we're wrapping up here today, so I just wanted to thank you for all your help," she said.

"Er, I should thank _you_ for responding to my message to help Louisa, and, er… Mr. Powell."

"Oh no, I should thank _you_ for getting us out of that locked basement in time. You saved our lives."

"Right then." Martin turned to go, but she put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"I'm going to miss Cornwall," she said. "It's so beautiful here and the people are amazing, but I'm going back to Los Angeles and probably giving up acting for good. My husband and I are splitting up… I mean _consciously uncoupling_ , so I need to reinvent myself and concentrate on my real passion, my lifestyle blog. I want to help my fans to nourish their inner selves."

"Er, what?"

"I've met this amazing person here, Sandra Mylow, an absolute genius when it comes to herbal remedies. She has a genuine entrepreneurial spirit too, and that is just _sooo_ inspiring to me. I believe you know Sandra?"

"Hm," he replied, scowling at her hand still resting on his shoulder.

"I've invited her to LA to reinvent herself along with me there. I know some people that would be very interested in what she has to offer."

Her voice became more coy, and she began to massage his shoulder suggestively.

"Would you ever consider giving up your practice here and moving to Southern California to start your own private practice… _Martin?_ You'd be free of all the National Health Service government regulation you have here and you could make _lots_ more money, especially with my recommendation."

"No." Martin shrugged her hand off and stalked off.

As he raised his hand to the front door knocker, the door opened to reveal Jago Powell about to step out.

"Doctor! I never properly thanked you for… well for everything you did the other day. You'll be happy to hear Wenn Hall has minimal fire damage and our cameraman actually got some lovely shots of smoke pouring out of the kitchen wing. Very useful for our big finale scenes of _Rebecca_ , where Manderley goes up in flames, so we won't have to entirely CGI it. That'll save us some money, because between you and me we're already way over budget."

"How nice for you."

"Anyway, I'm really glad to see you one last time. I'm leaving Cornwall tomorrow, likely for good. Oh this place is scenic and all, and I know I talked about buying a house here, but frankly this whole crazy business just reminded of how miserable my time as a kid was here. Too many unpleasant memories revived. I don't know how Louisa can stand sticking around after everything she's been through." He leaned toward Martin as if to confide in him. "You know, there's too many people here that are just plain _Bodmin_."

"I'd like to say you'll be missed but…" Martin went to push past him.

"Just one more thing Doctor… er, Martin. About Louisa."

That got his attention. "What about her?"

"She's my friend and I care about her. She had a rough start in life and she needs someone solid, dependable, caring, even when she seems ready to give up. Feeling abandoned early in life can make it hard to resist the urge to run away from your problems sometimes, believe me I know. Louisa deserves someone who will be there for her, no matter what."

There was a silent pause, then Jago stepped aside, leaving the door wide open.

"Hm. I have business with Mr. Wenn," Martin said. He stalked off.

The cook met him in the hallway, evidently back from holiday. She was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman, the complete opposite type from Mrs. Daniels. "Oh Dr. Ellingham, we've been expecting you. The master of the house is in the back garden. I'm acting as housekeeper seeing as we're short one and my kitchen is out of commission at the moment. We're mostly getting by on takeaway Indian and fish and chips for now, but I can still manage a cup of tea if you like. I certainly picked a fine time to go on holiday, missed all the excitement, didn't I."

Before Martin could tell the chatty woman he already knew the way she darted ahead and announced him to Mr. Wenn

The master of the house was sitting on the back terrace, in the same spot Martin had originally seen him, with a silver tea service laid out before him. "Ah, Dr. Ellingham. Won't you join me?"

"I thought you were suffering from smoke inhalation."

"I am, doctor." He coughed. "Ran into the kitchen yesterday to guide the firemen. Woke up with a sore throat and a bit of a headache today."

"You should have gone to hospital to be assessed yesterday. House calls aren't an efficient use of my time, but seeing as this is on the way to my aunt's farm…" He sat at the table and took out his stethoscope, placing the bell against Mr. Wenn's back and instructing him to breathe deep and then cough. He moved the bell to several locations, repeating the instructions. Then he took out his penlight and examined the patient's eyes and throat.

"Your lungs sound fine, throat a bit irritated. Your eyes and skin colour look good. How are you feeling generally?"

"Well enough, considering all that's happened. Going to be an adjustment, life without my Lovey for a while."

"For a while?" Martin had expected the marriage would be over after the recent revelations about the second Mrs. Wenn, but he kept that thought to himself.

"Well, of course we've had a rough patch lately, but we'll be doing a bit of the couples counselling while she's, um, away. I've got the number of a therapist who will make house calls to, um…"

"Prison."

"Yes." Mr. Wenn coughed and took a sip of tea. "Anyway, she's making a plea bargain and will likely get little time. It'll go quickly. In the meantime, making repairs to the house will keep me busy. Fortunately, it's mostly just smoke damage in the kitchen area, and thanks to the money from the filming I'm all paid up on the insurance, so that should take care of restoring it. And now all the publicity from the case means extra demand for tours. I'm thinking of adding two more days a week and opening up Old Granddad's King Tut's tomb replica to the curious. I've already got an offer from another film company that wants to use it as a movie set. So it's all been a bit of a mixed blessing really."

"Hm," Martin replied. "Well, I understand the lab results backed up your wife's story about the cigars being poisoned. The police searched Mrs. Daniels' cottage on the moor and found quite a few amber glass bottles with very suspicious herbal concoctions. I expect they'll dig up the remains of her brother and do an autopsy. Highly unlikely Mrs. Daniels will ever be released, whether she ends up in prison or a mental hospital. I have another aunt, a psychiatrist dealing with the criminally insane, she would find this a fascinating case."

"One thing I still don't understand," he continued. "Why did you keep Mrs. Daniels on as housekeeper even after it came out about your wife's accusations about her?"

"I think I can answer that one, Doc," came a familiar voice behind him.

"P.C. Joseph Penhale," announced the cheerful cook, one step behind the constable. She carried a second tea service out and laid it on the table. Penhale sat and poured himself a cup. Martin waved away the cook's offer of a cup.

"Me and the boys at the Delabole station have been having some interesting conversations with Mrs. Daniels. _Very_ interesting," Penhale said.

Martin noticed Mr. Wenn was looking pale and began coughing again. He pulled out his prescription pad.

"It seems she's been aware for some time that her employer has been indulging his love of ancient artefacts by buying from black market dealers who smuggled them illegally out of Egypt. The Egyptian consulate in London is very interested to know what you've got here on the premises. They'll be sending some experts to do an inventory. Sounds like she had a bit of a blackmailer's hold over you, eh?"

Mr. Wenn managed to get his coughing under control and sipped some more tea. "Um, well… we'll see won't we? Mrs. Daniels isn't exactly a fan of the truth. I mean, do you believe her when she said had nothing to do with me getting sick that time, or my dog Bobby dying?"

"Hard to say," Penhale replied. "But there's no evidence of her involvement there, and she'd have no reason to lie about it after everything else she confessed to."

Martin was writing out a prescription for an inhaler for Mr. Wenn. As he handed it over, a breeze started to pick up and almost pulled the paper out of his hand. He had a sudden thought, a memory of something Sandra Mylow had said about her inspiration for the tamango potion.

"Mr. Wenn, I seem to recall you saying you take your tea out here almost no matter what the weather."

"That's right – spring, summer, and autumn. Always have. Bobby would sit out here with me."

"Was it windy here the day you and the dog fell ill?"

"Well, I seem to recall it was blustery the night before, lots of branches and sticks came down. They were littered all around here. But it mostly quieted down by morning, just a bit of gustiness when I came out here."

"Hm. Can you describe the scene in more detail? For instance… what sort of tea were you drinking?"

"It was Earl Grey, I think. Usually I drink English Breakfast with milk and a sugar lump but once in a while I get a sort of craving for a nice Earl Grey with lemon. Like today. I suppose this must be the first time I've had it since that day."

He took a sip. "You know, it's starting to come back to me."

"Yes, tastes and smells can have strong associations in memory," Martin said.

"I poured myself a cup and it was very hot, so I left it to cool down while I went into the house to get the paper to read over breakfast. I remember there was an article about that fellow Terry Glasson, the one who was involved in that unfortunate incident at your surgery. He pled guilty to smuggling or some such charge. All sorts of odd goings on in Portwenn lately, aren't there. Anyway, when I sat down a stray leaf had fallen into my tea cup."

"Do you remember what sort of leaf it was?"

"One from the shrub, I believe." He indicated the oleander nearby. "Must have blown in. I fished it out, didn't think anything of it. There were a few on the table and in the dog's water dish as well. So I finished up my breakfast, read the paper, and went inside to see if Loveday was awake yet."

"And when did you start to feel unwell?"

"About an hour or so later. I was really ill by that night. Lovey was quite concerned. It wasn't till the next morning we realized the dog had died. You don't think this was any coincidence, do you Dr. Ellingham."

"I don't. You are aware that oleander is highly toxic, especially to animals. What I think happened was the leaf fell into your tea and steeped there for several minutes while you were in the house, thereby contaminating the tea. Why would you drink tea that something had fallen into?"

"I thought it was just a harmless leaf. Actually I thought it gave the tea a rather nice, sweet flavour."

"Yes, antifreeze also has a nice sweet flavour. It was beyond foolish of you to drink it. It could have killed you, and the same leaves that fell into the water dish undoubtedly contaminated it enough to kill the dog, it having a smaller body weight than you and already in fragile health due to its advanced age."

"Doc, you're a genius!" Penhale proclaimed, his eager brown eyes shining with admiration. Then he looked down at his teacup and quietly pushed it away.

"It was a freak occurrence," Mr. Wenn said. "Shame about poor old Bobby, but what's done is done." He downed the rest of his tea and poured himself some more, offering the pot to Martin. "Are you sure you won't have a cup?"

"No." Martin grabbed his medical bag and stalked off.

 _To be continued…_


	47. Chapter 47

_Note:_ As some plotlines wind down, I wanted to delve into a short standalone story here about an unresolved issue from S2E3 "Blood Is Thicker."

Chapter 47: Interlude Part 1: Aunt Joan's Secret

Friday Afternoon

"Martin, are you sure you don't want some tea?"

"Er, no thank you Auntie Joan. I'll just have some water."

"Suit yourself." She helped to another cup, with cream and sugar

Martin filled his glass at the kitchen tap, then sat down again. "Well, your ankle seems to have healed nicely. And things seem to have settled down around here finally, now that the film crew is wrapping up and… other things have been sorted. Glad to see Al Large has gotten your new boiler installed."

"I don't know when I'll be able to repay you," she said, over Martin's protests that it wasn't necessary. "But it will be nice to have plenty of hot water in the meantime," she added.

Martin gave her a little half smile and went outside to talk with Al, who was loading his equipment into the van. He handed the plumber an envelope. "I want to thank you. I know I can trust you to do good work."

"Just doing the job." Al climbed into the driver's seat and couldn't resist a peek in the envelope at the cheque inside. "Just a minute, Doc. You've overpaid what we agreed on. By quite a bit I might add."

Martin had hoped Al wouldn't see the cheque until he was home, but he realized an explanation was in order.

"Er, well, I also want to thank you for all your help with the… _situation_ at Wenn Hall; and also with the medical emergency and the other situation at the cliffs a few weeks ago. The, er, Baker…"

"Ted Hammett," Al prompted him.

"Yes, Mr. Hammett. He's making a good recovery, thanks in part to your assistance."

"Yeah, I talked to him a few days ago. He was doing pretty bad before all this, wife left him, business going down the crapper. The Colonel was pretty mad at him for trying to steal the chough eggs too, but he decided not to rat him out to the police. Now Ted's planning to sell the bakery, move to Slough to live with his sister, and train to be a chef."

"Hm. Let's hope he learns to follow some basic hygiene rules in the kitchen."

Al gave a little half-smile to that comment.

"In any case," Martin continued, "yesterday aside, I haven't seen much of you since then and I'm sure we'd all like to put these unfortunate events behind us and not dwell on them. Still, you are one of the more sensible and intelligent people in this village, and… I, er, want you to know I appreciate that."

"I appreciate you saying that, Doc. Means more coming from you somehow, I know you're not one for empty praise."

"Al… how old are you now?"

"I'm 26, Doc."

"Old enough that you shouldn't let yourself be held back by your father. There's more to life than plumbing and perhaps… since you've been able to earn a bit of money lately, you might want to consider looking beyond Portwenn for a while and, er, seeing more of the world."

"Funny you mention that," Al said. "I've been thinking along those very lines, Doc. I guess great minds think alike. If Ted Hammett can make a change after all that happened to him, maybe I should too. Got my sights set a little farther than Slough though."

"Do come back eventually," Martin added. "Now that the farmhouse has adequate heat and hot water there is quite a bit of other work that needs to be done."

"Hm. I'll keep that in mind. Cheers, Doc."

Al stuck his hand out through the driver's window and Martin shook it. Then Martin got in the Lexus and they both departed.

ooOOOOOOOoo

Joan regarded them through the kitchen window. The men of her generation were all gone, and these were the men in her life now. They were a study in contrasts. Her nephew was his usual stiff, stern, bespoke-suited self, while Al was all casual talk and gestures. She studied Al in particular, discreetly, as she had done many times over his young lifetime.

She and his late mother Mary had once been the best and closest of friends. Mary Dowd was the barmaid at the Crab and Lobster when she married the local plumber. Bert Large was not exactly handsome then, and not exactly thin either, but he was full of fresh youthful ardour and endowed with a full head of dark hair. However, even back then Bert was prone to spending his time and money on impractical, get-rich-quick schemes, something that caused many an argument with his lovely young bride.

Joan had been something of a mentor to the younger woman and gave her a shoulder to cry on when Mary and Bert had one of their terrible rows. In turn, Mary was a sympathetic and non-judgemental confidante when Joan was smitten with the adventurous yachtsman John Slater and had to end turn her back on him to care for her ill husband.

But what really brought them together was their shared heartache over their mutual seeming infertility. That is, until Al was born.

Now a young man, Al was so much like Mary, practical and guileless, with a simple, honest personality that seemed baffled by any hint of duplicity in others. Like her, he was tall and thin, with light brown hair, and a slightly upturned nose. He had her slow, sauntering walk, and her way of scratching the back of her neck and squinting when puzzling over something; and he could be intelligent in surprising ways, like the time he won a trophy for chess when he was in school. He was his mother's son, and Joan had always been very fond of him, whether his father was Bert Large or… well, Joan sometimes still wondered about the alternative.

The only thing strikingly different from his mother was his eyes. Not light brown like Mary's or even dark brown like Bert's, but blue. They weren't the pale blue-grey that Martin and all the men in Joan's own family had, but a brighter shade, rather more like her own eyes or those of her sister Ruth.

And now Al was old enough to wonder about the differences between him and Bert. Joan thought back to when he had asked her, his late mother's friend, about those differences when Bert had stubbornly refused to provide his birth certificate.

 _"_ _Dad's short, I'm tall. He's big, I'm not. He thinks differently. We're totally different," Al told her._

 _"_ _That's got nothing to do with it, he's your father," Joan said._

 _"_ _He still won't give me my birth certificate."_

 _"_ _Al, I knew your Mum very well. When you were born she and Bert were overjoyed."_

 _"_ _So you do know something then."_

 _Joan tried to change the subject, directing Al to get to work on the pipe she needed replaced in the field. "If you don't get on with it then that job'll never get done."_

 _Al would not be deterred. "Joan!_ Joan! _Did my Mum have an affair?!"_

 _"_ _Al, your father loved your mother very much. Your father loves you very much. There's nothing more to be said."_

Then Joan couldn't help thinking back further, so many years ago, to the day Christopher came to visit.

 _To be continued…_


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48: Interlude Part 2: Behind Blue Eyes

Friday Afternoon (and 26 Years and Nine Months Earlier)

Ever since Uncle Dick had died and left Havenhurst Farm to his nephew and his favourite niece, it was rare for Christopher to bother making the trip from London all the way out to Portwenn. He had always shrugged off his half-interest in the farm as too minor for a successful surgeon like himself to bother with, except as a place to farm out his son for summers and school holidays. That is, until he decided Joan was a bad influence on the boy.

Then one day he phoned, saying he expected to be in the vicinity for a medical conference, and asking to have a look at the portrait of their great-great-grandfather Richard Martin Trevillian, fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, which had graced the front room of the farmhouse for years.

When Phil had first been diagnosed with Motor Neurone Disease, Joan had taken down the painting and stashed it in the barn with other family items, finding her maternal ancestor's stern expression too depressing to have staring down at her all the time. She was willing to let Christopher take it in the interest of encouraging some family harmony, since he did technically still own half her farm, and she hoped to use it as a bargaining chip to allow Martin to visit once again.

"Old Great-Great-Granddad was an accomplished surgeon in his day," Christopher said. "He worked with Charles Bell, who first described the symptoms of what we now know as MND."

"I know," she replied. "Martin informed me when he was 11. He's really quite a brilliant child, very precocious."

"Ironic isn't it, that your Phil now has MND. Funny how these things turn out."

Joan made a face, unseen over the phone, and refrained from snapping back that she found nothing funny about it. She ignored her brother's remark just as he had ignored hers about Martin's brilliance. She still hoped she could soften Christopher's stand on keeping his now 15-year-old son away from her.

"You know, I've always thought that old painting might be the work of John Partridge," Christopher continued. "I'd like to have an appraiser look at it, strictly for insurance purposes."

Joan suspected Margaret had seen a similar painting appraised for a high sum on the Antiques Roadshow and had urged Christopher to claim the family heirloom for the prestige value, but she consoled herself with the thought that Martin would inherit the portrait one day, if Christopher or Margaret didn't decide to sell it at auction first.

"So what time can I expect you at the train station Saturday?" she asked.

"I'll be driving. I should be there around 11 a.m."

"That early? I have to take Phil into Truro in the morning to see a specialist. He's been having some difficulty walking. We probably won't be back until at least 1 o'clock."

"I want to get an early start out of London, avoid the traffic. Got a new Jag convertible, can't wait to really open her up on the motorway and Margaret won't be along to keep nagging me to slow down."

Joan was silently grateful for that at least. "Fine, you know where the key is, just let yourself in. I'll leave some shepherd's pie and some beer in the fridge if you're hungry, and we'll be along as soon as we can."

Saturday also happened to be the day when Mary opened a letter from the bank and found out Bert had missed two mortgage payments. It was their worst row yet, and she stormed out of their cottage on Fore Street at noon to drive out to Havenhurst Farm to find a sympathetic ear.

And so it was that the only person at the farm to greet a very vulnerable Mary Large was Christopher Ellingham.

ooOOOOOOOoo

When Joan and Phil came home from Truro, they were surprised to see both a red Jaguar convertible and the Large plumber's van at the farm. She carefully supported him as they slowly made their way in the front door to find to find her brother and her friend in disarray on the sofa.

Mary was all embarrassed apologies, putting her dress to rights, but unable to look a shocked Joan in the eye. She rushed out the door and drove off in the van.

Christopher offered no explanations and no apologies to his furious sister. "Found the painting in the barn, Joanie, and your friend just happened to show up. Sorry to hear you're under the weather, Phil. They're making great strides in MND research lately. Looks like dark clouds coming in off the coast, I'd best be off and try to beat the rain."

He sped away with their sternly disapproving great-great-grandfather's life-sized portrait in its ornate gilt frame occupying the tiny back seat of the Jaguar convertible, smugly satisfied that he had managed to snag a valuable artwork and shag one of the locals in the process. And Joan felt her hopes for him rescinding the ban on Martin's visits speed off with him.

Joan felt estranged from her friend for quite a while after the incident. They managed to avoid each other, not an easy feat in a tiny village, but after six weeks there came a knock at the farmhouse door. Joan opened it and there was Mary.

"Please don't shut the door, Joanie!" she pleaded. "I need to face up to what happened."

Joan hesitated a moment, then slowly opened the door wider. "Phil's upstairs sleeping. Come in and I'll put the kettle on."

They sat at the kitchen table and Mary tearfully explained that Bert had spent all their savings on a stock tip that hadn't panned out. When she found out she had driven off in the van in a blind fury, with no plan except the intention of never going back.

"I was at my wit's end Joanie, I really felt it was the end of my marriage. I came here because I needed someone to talk to… and you're my best friend. I was so surprised when this stranger answered the door. He explained that he was your brother and… well, he was just so charming. We sat at the table and he offered me a beer… and then…"

"I can just imagine," Joan said. "You were a damsel in distress and my _suave, sophisticated_ brother was only too happy to lend a shoulder and so much more. Well, I reckon I can't exactly cast the first stone."

Mary nodded and looked down, ashamed. "I know it was wrong. When I drove out of here, I just pulled over in a field and cried and cried. I really felt I had nowhere to go… so in the end I went back home and confessed everything to Bert. We apologized to each other and I told him I would sell the silver tea set I inherited from my Gran to pay the bills if he would promise to stick with the plumbing business from now on."

She looked up and smiled a little for the first time since she had arrived. "You know what they say about couples making up after a big fight. We had a fabulous night together and things have never been better. And I've got some news…" Her smile grew bigger. "I'm expecting!"

Joan was even more shocked than she had been on discovering Mary with Christopher _in flagrante_ on the sofa. "How can you be certain who the father is? Especially since you and Bert have been unsuccessful so far."

"Well, your brother… he pulled out before he… well, you know. I'm not naïve about these things, Joanie, I know that's no guarantee. Bert doesn't know it was your brother but I've been completely honest with him. We've agreed to put it all behind us. He couldn't be more excited… Ironic isn't it. It's like my chance encounter with your brother actually saved my marriage. Funny how these things turn out."

ooOOOOOOOoo

When Alan Mark Large was born Joan tried her best to be happy for the proud parents, grimly consoling herself with the thought that being childless meant she didn't have to worry about a son or daughter inheriting Phil's Motor Neurone Disease.

However, as young Al grew Joan couldn't help but wonder about his origin. Certainly physically and temperamentally he was as different from Bert as night and day, but then, Joan reflected, the same might be said about him and Christopher.

She had once asked Martin about this, without going into why she wanted to know. "Was it possible for two brown-eyed parents to have a blue-eyed child?"

His answer had involved simple Mendelian traits versus dominant and modifier genes controlling additive pigments, but it boiled down to the fact that a wide variety of genes are involved in the formation of the eye that dictate iris colour, especially in a varied genetic population such as that of contemporary Britain. Joan had not given any thought to such things since being in school but as a farmer she had some understanding of how certain traits were passed down in sheep or chickens.

"So, short answer is 'yes,'" she said.

"Er, it's uncommon, but yes… it is possible," he replied.

ooOOOOOOOoo

Now today, in her farmhouse kitchen, looking out the window at Martin and Al conversing, she thought of another recent conversation she had had with Al.

 _"_ _What if I've been callin' a stranger Dad for 25 years?" Al asked her._

 _"_ _He's Bert. He's your father," she said, as she threw the chickens their feed._

 _"_ _Well that's the point then, innit. What if he's not?"_

 _"_ _Fine, Al," she said, patiently. "Let's just suppose that he's not. What are you going to do?"_

 _"_ _How d'you mean?"_

 _"_ _Well, are you going to walk away from him? Or are you going to ignore him? Or you might want to think about how he's been feeling all these years, not knowing. And the fact that he's kept loving you."_

 _"_ _Hm," was his only reply._

Alone in her kitchen, Joan smiled to herself, as she watched her two favourite men in the world. She knew they were both having their romantic travails, Martin with Louisa and Al with Pauline. She wanted to give them the benefit of her life experience, to tell them life has its ups and downs and you shouldn't take love for granted, but her life experience had also taught her that everyone has to find their own way in the world and make their own mistakes.

So instead she just watched as they concluded their conversation, shook hands, and drove off, one in a Lexus and one in a plumber's van.

 _ **We now return to our regularly scheduled story… And please remember, any reviews and positive feedback are greatly appreciated!** _

Note: John Partridge (1789-1872) was a British artist. Named "portrait painter-extraordinary" to Queen Victoria, his paintings depicted many of the notable figures of his time.


	49. Chapter 49

_Previously:_ Pauline started out angry at Al for trying to sabotage her plan to apply for a university nursing course and depressed after being held hostage and threatened by Crazy Jonathan. Her feelings about Al changed after she saw how heroic he could be in dangerous situations. Now Al is starting to reconsider what he wants from life after all he's been through lately.

Chapter 49: Al Thinks Back

Friday Afternoon

Al drove home from Joan's farm and parked the van. He sat a moment, thinking things over, then got out and walked along Fore Street up the hill to Pauline's house. As he walked he thought about how quickly things had changed between them in the past few weeks.

ooOOOOOoo

 _He had acted on impulse, hiding Pauline's application to the nursing program instead of posting it as promised, and once she discovered his deception he was sincerely ashamed of himself. She rejected his flowers and apology, but he couldn't stay away from her. So, fortified with a pint or three, he knocked on the surgery door that day and demanded to be let in._

 _When a strange Irishman opened the door and pointed a shotgun at him, Al didn't know what to think at first. It was all so bizarre. Hustled into the office, only to see Pauline and Louisa tied up, and the Doc putting a sling on Terry Glasson's arm, he still couldn't quite understand what was going on._

 _It was only when the nutter threatened to shoot Pauline, and then let loose a warning blast, that Al really grasped that something was very, very wrong here. He agreed to get his dad's boat, follow the directions to find a Spanish trawler off Nelson's Point, and memorize the Spanish phrase to repeat to the trawler crew. Anything to placate the madman. Al was very alarmed to leave Pauline behind in this predicament but he consoled himself that at least the Doc was there to try to keep some level of sanity._

 _He went down to the dock and unlocked the motor dinghy. He zoomed it out past the sea wall and into the open water, repeating to himself the phrase_ "Terry mi manda a por el paquete," _or was it_ "la paquete" _as the Doc insisted. It seemed to take hours to get out to the location and once he spotted the trawler the phrase went right out of his head._

 _He pulled the dinghy up alongside and stumbled over the words. "All right. Uh,_ Terry mi manda por, _uh_ … Terry mi manda… _uh, Terry Glasson sent me."_

 _A man looked over the side and lowered a bag to him, shouting something incomprehensible._

 _"_ _Don't speak Spanish, mate," Al told him._

 _The man continued to shout at him as Al motored away. He was intent only on getting back to the surgery as soon as possible, but out of the corner of his eye he couldn't help but see a figure climbing up the cliff. He tried to ignore it but when the man slipped and fell Al hesitated, then with a resigned groan headed over to see what had happened. He anchored the dinghy and strained to see up to the ledge, where the man lay unmoving._

 _Al took out his mobile, relieved to see there was a signal, and called the surgery. The madman answered. "You got the package?"_

 _"_ _Yeah, I got it, yeah. Pauline OK?"_

 _"_ _Pauline is fine. Pauline's great," the nutter replied._

 _Al could hear some commotion on the other end, and Pauline shouted for him to be careful. The nutter was insisting the package be brought back but Al was firm with him. "You'll get your package. Just let me speak to the doctor."_

 _Al could hear the nutter mumbling. "He said someone's fallen off a cliff."_

 _More confusion, but Al managed to convey the message. "I think he's hurt badly, Doc. I can't see him moving."_

 _"_ _Call the Coast Guard," the Doc said._

 _Al could hear more arguing, then the nutter was back on the line. "Um, OK. Plumber Boy? We're coming there." Click._

 _Al could only handle one crisis at a time. He sized up the distance from the dinghy to the ledge where the man lay, then looked farther up to the edge of the cliff. It was shorter from the ledge to the water but there was no way he would be able to get the unconscious man to the dinghy. Up was the only way. He took out his mobile again and rang another number._

 _"_ _Yeah Dad, it's me. No the flowers didn't work. Uh listen, we're gonna need some help."_

 _Al explained what he needed. Then he slung the mystery bag over his back and was able to step out into just a few inches of water (luckily the tide was out) and scramble up the rocks to the ledge. It was Ted Hammett the Baker, lying beside a bird nest, groaning and mumbling incoherently. Al could see the Colonel looking down from the cliff and shouting something but he couldn't make out the words over the sound of the waves crashing below. Al put his jacket under the man's head and tried to take his pulse but he wasn't sure if he could feel anything. He waited for what seemed like hours before he could hear a commotion up above. At that moment, Ted's limbs began to stiffen up and his back arched painfully._

 _"_ _Help! I think he's havin' a fit!" Al shouted._

 _The Doc had joined the Colonel, looking down at him. "Cushion his head, he may be haemorrhaging!"_

 _There was more commotion, then the Doc appeared at the edge with his medical bag and a harness strapped around him, slowly and nervously inching his way down the cliff with a taut line keeping him from falling. Al knew his Dad must have arrived with the winch attached to the harness._

 _The Doc gradually descended to just a few feet above the ledge when the line stopped lowering him, leaving him dangling helplessly. Then suddenly the line gave and he fell the rest of the way down, toppling on top of Ted. Al feared for a moment he would have two injured men to deal with, but the Doc regained his composure, and examined the baker's eyes with a pen torch._

 _"_ _Doc, I think he's on his way out."_

 _"_ _That's your diagnosis, is it."_

 _"_ _Yeah. What's he doin' up here anyway?"_

 _"_ _Uh, stealing chough eggs," he said, handing Al the pen torch to hold. "And contracting a bacterial infection from bird faeces."_

 _"_ _He'll be all right though, won't he."_

 _The Doc was clearly concerned. "His uh, optic nerve is swollen due to the increased intracranial pressure. Means that your first diagnosis could well be right. He's not going to make it…unless… I need to… relieve the pressure… on his brain."_

 _The Doc took some deep breaths and took out what Al recognized as his father's drill and put some antiseptic on the drill bit to sterilize it._

 _Al was confused. "How are you gonna do that?" Suddenly he realized with horror what the Doc planned to do. "Ohh, oh Doc! How do you know if you drill far enough?!"_

 _"_ _His eyes will open."_

 _The Doc carefully positioned the drill and switched on the bit to penetrate a short distance. Just as he predicted, Ted's eyes popped open. The Doc applied antiseptic and bandaged the hole. Al was impressed with the Doc's calm demeanour throughout the whole surreal procedure._

 _Then the Doc had to be winched back up the cliff, hanging on to the still unconscious patient the whole way up. Al had to free climb behind them, with the bag still slung over his back, only to be confronted at the top with the nutter demanding the bag at gun point._

 _"_ _Ohhh, you're kidding right?!" Al exclaimed._

 _Fortunately, the Doc grabbed managed to grab the shotgun away and ordered Pauline to call an ambulance for the poor Baker, "accompanied by a really annoying man who needs sectioning under the Mental Health Act!"_

 _Pauline was too upset to do anything, so Louisa took her mobile from her and made the 999 call._

 _"_ _Al? Lock those explosives in the boot of my car before someone gets blown up." The Doc handed Al the keys and the mystery bag._

"Explosives?!"

 _"_ _Oh come on, Al. You carried them up a cliff, you'll survive the trip to the car."_

 _Over the Colonel's objections, the Doc handed Al the shotgun to lock up too._

 _As Al secured the bag and the gun in the car, Pauline took his arm. He put his arm around her and gave her a kiss._

 _"_ _Action Man," she said, grinning up at him._

 _"_ _No." He was embarrassed._

 _"_ _Yeah. Totally. Climbing up the cliff and all that." She couldn't stop smiling._

 _"_ _Well, it was quite excitin' yeah. You OK?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. The shaking stopped. Don't think I'll be settin' foot outside the house again. Well, Portwenn anyway. Not for a while."_

 _"_ _I dunno," Al replied, as they walked back. "I think you're onto somethin' there. It's a big world out there." He laughed at her surprised reaction. "What? You know I'll always come back to you. Don't you? OK."_

 _The Doc was finishing up examining Ted as the nutter showed up carrying the bag again and a crowbar, acting like there were no hard feelings. "So uh, I gotta take off then folks," he said._

 _"_ _Where did you get that bag from?" the Doc demanded._

 _"_ _I just got the crowbar from Big Plumber Man's van and pried your car door open. So thanks for that. Thanks for all your help." He threw the bag on top of poor Ted and held out his hand to shake the Doc's hand._

 _The Doc grabbed the bag, they scuffled, and the Doc hurled it over the cliff to the ledge where they had just been._

 **KABOOM!**

 _Everyone was shocked into silence. In the distance sirens began rapidly approaching._

 _"_ _Excuse me," the Doc said. He took his medical bag and stalked away._

 _The ambulance came and took away Ted and the nutter. The police tried to sort out exactly what had happened, but with everyone talking excitedly at once they insisted the whole lot of them come down to the Delabole station. There they brought everyone in one by one to give their statement to sort out exactly who was going to be charged with what._

 _Al was one of the first in the interview room. He finally managed to convince them he wasn't an accomplice to the smugglers, that he had no idea what was in the bag, and he was only cooperating under duress as his girlfriend and others were being held hostage. It helped that Pauline was able to corroborate his version of what happened._

 _After they were done, it was his Dad's turn to be interviewed, only for the officers to inform him that his van had an expired MOT sticker and he appeared to be behind on the Vehicle Excise Tax. "Better go on home and don't wait for me, Boy," he told Al. "This could take a while."_

 _Al and Pauline got a ride from the Colonel, who dropped them off at the Large house. Once safely inside the front door, all the tension from the terrible day suddenly dropped away._

 _"_ _You know, I just realized," Pauline said. "This is the first time we've had a house to ourselves, either your place or mine, in like_ ever _. We don't have to go out to our special rock, or fumble around in the van, or worry about my Mum or your Dad walking in on us."_

 _In reply, Al pulled her close to him and they kissed. What had been the worst day of their lives was about to become their best night ever._

 _ooOOOOOoo_

At this point, Al had reached the front door of the Lamb house. He didn't want to think about that night any longer. He had made up his mind about what he had to do. He sighed and knocked.

 _To be continued…_

Note: An MOT sticker shows that a vehicle has passed the Ministry of Transport's annual safety and emissions inspection.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter 50: Pauline Thinks Back

Friday Afternoon

Pauline answered the door, excited to see Al there. She reached for him to give him a kiss, which he returned but with an embarrassed look.

"Paul, we need to talk. I've been thinkin' about things."

They went into the kitchen, where Pauline put the kettle on and brought out some biscuits. She was happy her mother was out for the afternoon. "You're going to push for more movie roles, now you're making connections in the industry?"

"Oh, I dunno about that." He seemed surprised at the idea. "You can paint me up with makeup and dress me up in old timey clothes but I'm still just playin' myself. How many movies or TV shows are gonna need Al Large in 'em?"

"You could take acting classes, expand your range."

"Don't think I have much range, can't expand what you don't have."

She considered the wisdom of this thought. "Maybe you're right, you're too genuine for the bright lights of Tinseltown. You're like a stick of rock,

"What d'you mean? Like minty?"

"No silly, solid. A stick of rock that says 'Al' all the way through."

"Yeah, I reckon," he laughed. "Somethin' good did come of it all though."

"I've been thinking too." She poured the tea and sat down with him. "If that shiny key is still available, I think I'd like to have it now. Move in with you, I mean."

"Actually Paul, I was thinkin' something different." He paused to pour milk into his cup and stir it. "I got all this extra cash now from the movie and all, and I was thinkin' how you were so eager to get out of Portwenn for a while, expand your horizons so to speak, so I maybe thought I might… er, take a sort of gap year."

"What do you mean, gap year? You want to go to university?"

"Just the University of Life, as my Dad would say. It's a big world out there. I was thinkin' of going abroad, not for a whole year, but for a while."

She wasn't sure what to make of this. "Like where?"

"Africa, for a start. Always wanted to go see lions and elephants, maybe some gorillas. Maybe head for Lake Victoria, supposed to be a great party scene for backpackers there now."

"Al Large, partying in Africa." She was really having a hard time picturing this.

"It's a chance to live it up for a while, get away from Dad and plumbing. You know, like they say, find yourself. All this stuff happenin' lately, it's like a sign. Life is short, anything can happen."

"I kinda feel like putting off going outside Portwenn for a while. My Mum won't like it, that's for sure, and how would I break it to the Doc? He's come to rely on me."

Al suddenly looked like he'd been caught in a tight spot. "Er, well… you see, Paul, findin' yourself… I mean, findin' _myself_ …" He put a sugar lump into his tea, even though he normally didn't take sugar. "…means goin' off on an adventure… by _myself_." He avoided her eyes, dumped a few more sugar lumps in his cup, and stirred vigorously.

She looked at him incredulously. "So… it's really _me_ you want to get away from."

"No! No, I'm not runnin' off from _you_ ," he was quick to reply. "I'll be back."

Pauline was blinking back tears by now.

"Aw Pauline, I don't wanna make you cry. Like I said that day at the cliffs, you know I'll always come back to you. I just… I just don't know when."

"What's your Dad think about this?"

"He doesn't know yet. I've only just decided and I wanted to tell you first. I know he won't like it one bit, but that's the thing, Dad doesn't ever want me to be on my own. He painted 'Large and Son' on the van the day I was born, never asked me how I felt about it. There's got to be more to life than being Plumber Boy. I'm sorry Pauline, our time will come eventually, I really think so. It just isn't now."

There had been so much excitement lately, Pauline had pushed the traumatic memories of _That Day_ out of her mind but now they came flooding back.

ooOOOOOoo

 _They all piled into the Doc's car and drove out to the cliffs. The Colonel gestured over to the edge where they could see Al with the sprawled body of Ted the Baker down on the ledge, just a few feet above the crashing waves._

 _Crazy Jonathan and the Colonel had an angry exchange about the gun and the explosives, and then Bert showed up with his van. Pauline was too frantic with worry to take it all in, but it was clear Ted was in a bad way and Al was getting desperate. The Doc agreed to be lowered down by the winch on Bert's van, but Pauline could tell he was not happy about it._

 _Pauline could see Al's worried expression and his horror when the Doc employed the drill. She figured it was a crude method of relieving pressure on the brain, like the old fashioned trepanning she had once read about. Then the Doc and Ted were winched up. Al had to free climb behind them, nimble as a monkey, but still with the dreaded bag slung over his back. Pauline realized he probably had no idea how dangerous it was._

 _She helped them up over the cliff edge, only for Jonathan to demand the bag and get into a scuffle with the Doc, who grabbed the gun away. If only he had done that back at the surgery this all could have been avoided, Pauline thought._

 _"_ _Call an ambulance," the Doc ordered her. "Tell them to expect a man with an intracranial bleed, treated_ successfully _by emergency trepanation. Accompanied by a really annoying man who needs sectioning under the Mental Health Act."_

 _Pauline pulled out her mobile but she was too distraught to make the call. Louisa gently took the phone from her and rang 999._

 _The Doc then ordered Al to lock the explosives and the gun in the boot of the Lexus. It was only then that Al realized what was in the bag. "Explosives?!"_

 _"_ _Oh come on Al, you carried them up a cliff, you'll survive the trip to the car," the Doc barked. As sensitive as ever, Pauline thought sarcastically._

 _She walked with Al as he went to lock the items in the car. She took his arm and he put his arm around her and gave her a kiss._

 _"_ _Action Man," she said, adoringly._

 _"_ _No," he replied, in his typical bashful manner._

 _"_ _Yeah. Totally. Climbing up the cliff and all that."_

 _"_ _Well, it was quite excitin' yeah. You OK?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. The shaking stopped. Don't think I'll be settin' foot outside the house again. Well, Portwenn anyway. Not for a while."_

 _"_ _I dunno, I think you're onto something there. It's a big world out there." He laughed at her dismayed reaction. "What? You know I'll always come back to you. Don't you? OK."_

 _The rest was a blur again, with the Doc examining the Ted, the Colonel arguing with Bert about who incited Ted to steal the chough eggs, and Louisa talking to her father. In the commotion, Jonathan managed to nick a crowbar from the van and pry open the Lexus to grab the dreaded bag. Fortunately, once he had it he didn't bother with the shotgun again. Pauline shuddered to think what would have happened it he had grabbed the gun._

 _In his clueless eagerness to shake hands with the Doc and make amends, Jonathan tossed the bag on top of poor old Ted, who groaned in pain._

 _Furious, the Doc grabbed the bag, they scuffled, and the Doc hurled it over the cliff to the ledge where they had just been._

 **KABOOM!**

 _Everyone was shocked into silence. In the distance sirens began rapidly approaching._

 _"_ _Excuse me," the Doc said. He took his medical bag and stalked away._

 _The ambulance came and took away Ted and Jonathan. The police tried to sort out exactly what had happened, but with everyone talking excitedly at once they insisted the whole lot of them come down to the Delabole station. There they brought everyone in one by one to give their statement to sort out exactly who was going to be charged with what._

 _Pauline gave her account of the whole day, from the moment Jonathan had shown up at the surgery to the final explosion. She was distressed to find the police seemed suspicious that Al had some connection to the smugglers but she finally managed to convince them that he had no idea what was in the bag and was only cooperating under duress as his girlfriend and others were being held hostage._

 _After they were done, there was some nonsense about Bert's van not being legal to be on the road, so they got a ride from the Colonel, who dropped them off at the Large house. Once safely inside the front door, all the tension from the terrible day suddenly dropped away._

 _"_ _You know, I just realized," Pauline said. "This is the first time we've had a house to ourselves, either your place or mine, in like_ ever _. We don't have to go out to our special rock, or fumble around in the van, or worry about my Mum or your Dad walking in on us."_

 _In reply, Al pulled her close and they kissed. With a confidence he had never shown before, he guided her into the living room and they sat together on the sofa. The guileless, straightforward Al suddenly seemed to find the romantic streak he had ineptly tried to show the night he had given her the key. With newfound confidence he dimmed the lights, lit a fire, got them each a beer from the fridge, and they snuggled together on the sofa, so glad just to be alive. Soon they were intertwined together in front of the fireplace and what had been the worst day of her life turned into the best night of her life._

 _ooOOOOOoo_

Now, as Al went out the door, Pauline's tears were coming too fast to wipe away any longer. She let them flow freely and watched as he walked away down the hill, scratching the back of his neck.

 _To be continued…_

Note: That's the end of Al and Pauline's part of the story. I hate to leave Pauline with an unhappy ending but it sets her up for how she has problems in Series 3. Al does return to her but of course, as we know in the long run, they are not destined to live happily ever after together.


	51. Chapter 51

_Previously:_ Now that all the excitement over the movie filming and the oleander poisoning mystery has been resolved, Al and Pauline each looked back to the traumatic events of the Crazy Jonathan hostage situation that were affecting them at the beginning of the story. As Martin is preparing to re-open his surgery after a fortnight hiatus, he now has a moment to look back at what it was like for him to descend the cliff and what happened to him afterward.

Chapter 51: Over The Edge

Saturday Morning

Martin was washing up from breakfast when he heard some noise in the reception. He went out to find Pauline sitting at her desk, sorting through patient files.

"Why are you here? The surgery doesn't reopen until Monday."

"I know, Doc. I've been on holiday for two weeks and, now all the excitement's over and I've got nothing to do. I'm bored. So I thought I'd come back early for a few hours and get the place in order, to hit the ground running come Monday morning."

He scowled.

"I don't even expect any overtime pay," she added.

"Hm. Right then. Good plan." He turned to go back to the kitchen.

The reception phone rang and she picked it up.

 _"Portwenn Surgery!"_ she said in a chirpy voice.

 _"We're here to unravel aches that might baffle,_

 _We'll figure it out and leave you no doubt._

 _So tell us what's wrong, it won't take us long,_

 _We'll get you well, but the Doc might still…"_

"Pauline!" Martin yelled.

He grabbed the phone and barked into it: "If you want a rhyme, call another time." He slammed it down.

She sulked. "I'm just trying to have a little fun."

"Well don't. I appreciate that you returned early but the surgery isn't open for two more days. In the meantime, if you must be here please go through the post, check the emails, and get these files organized." He went off to his office.

Pauline was left sitting alone in the reception. She looked at the pile of paperwork on her desk and slumped in her chair. She reached into her purse, rummaged around, and took out a brightly coloured lottery scratch card. Using a penny, she began scraping away the grey surface.

Martin shut the door and turned on his computer.

While it booted up he got up to inventory his supplies. Something caught his eye under the desk. He bent and picked it up, a piece of surgical tape. He stared at it in horror. He thought he had thoroughly set his office to rights but he must have overlooked a scrap of the tape Jonathan had used to tie him up. Martin shuddered. Clutching the scrap, his hands felt damp and trembling, and wave of memory from _That Day_ overtook him.

ooOOOOOoo

 _They had all piled into the Lexus with Louisa's dreadful father sitting beside him in front. Martin took out his handkerchief to wipe his damp palms. He clutched tightly at the wheel to control his trembling as he drove. The women were forced to sit with the even more dreadful Jonathan and the shotgun in back. They arrived at the cliffs to see the Colonel frantically waving his arms at the edge._

 _"_ _Ellingham! Ellingham! Quickly! Over here. The Baker fell. Bloody fool. He was trying to steal the eggs. I must say I expected something better of a local man."_

 _Jonathan got out of the car. "Hold on, hold on. OK, where's Plumber Boy?" He pointed the shotgun._

 _"_ _Bloody hell, that's my gun," the Colonel retorted. "What's going on?"_

 _In his bipolar manner, Jonathan reached out to shake his hand and introduce himself. "Hi, name is Jonathan. OK, where are the explosives?" He pointed the gun again._

 _"_ _What explosives?" The Colonel was very confused._

 _"_ _How do you know about the explosives?!" Jonathan demanded._

 _Martin cut through the nonsense. "Colonel, has the Baker lost consciousness?"_

 _"_ _The Baker! The Colonel! Do these people have no names? What's going on here?" Jonathan couldn't be silenced. "What is so important about the Baker? Come on!"_

 _From way below the cliff, Martin could hear groaning. Looking over the edge, he could see the Baker having a seizure down on the ledge, with a distraught Al beside him._

 _"_ _Help, I think he's havin' a fit!" Al shouted._

 _"_ _Cushion his head, he may be haemorrhaging!" Martin advised._

 _Jonathan came up abruptly, almost knocking Martin and the Colonel over the edge. "This is the Baker they sent you the fax about?"_

 _"_ _It's causing pressure on his brain." Martin said._

 _"_ _Something's pressing into his brain?" Jonathan repeated._

 _"_ _In all probability, yes."_

 _"_ _Well you've got to get down there, man," the Colonel said._

 _Martin felt his hands sweating and trembling again. They couldn't possibly expect him to descend the cliff. "No!"_

 _"_ _The Baker," Jonathan said, as if he had a sudden realization. "He's in charge of this whole thing. Everything has to get coordinated through him. That's why it's been so strong down here. He's got a transmitter chip in his brain and he's been using it to send signals into my head."_

 _"_ _This chap's absolutely bloody barking," the Colonel said._

 _"_ _We've got to, um… we've got to_ neutralize _the transmitter chip in his brain," Jonathan went on._

 _There has to be some other way, Martin thought. "We need to get some sort of pulley system to get the Baker up here."_

 _"_ _You're goin' down," Jonathan declared. He pointed the gun at Martin. "You're gonna go down there and you're gonna take the transmitter chip out of his head. Right now!"_

 _At that moment Bert drove up in his plumber's van and got out. "Hello Doctor. My lad said you'd be needin' this." He held out a harness on a cable attached to a winch on the front of the van._

 _It began to sink in for Martin that there was no other way and he was conscious that Louisa was watching with anxious eyes. He fought back a burning sense of shame for not being able to protect her back at the surgery. Now was the moment to redeem himself._

 _He thought about what he might need for the task ahead. "Bert, have you got a drill?"_

 _Bert got out his drill, which Martin pocketed. Then Bert put the harness on Martin and pulled it tight. He shouted commands and encouragement as Martin slowly began a controlled climb down, with the aid of the winch. Louisa and the others watched from the cliff edge as he carefully made his way._

 _Then the descent stopped with a jerk. The winch ran out of cable and Martin was left dangling a few feet above the ledge, helpless, clutching his medical bag in his left hand. This was worse than he had even imagined! He heard shouting above and Bert must have driven the van a few feet closer._

 _Suddenly there was too much cable and Martin fell the rest of the way to the ledge, right onto his patient. He scraped his face against rock and was unable to breathe for a moment. With the wind knocked out of him he thought he might pass out, but he steeled himself to regain his self control. He pushed the harness out of his way as he examined the Baker's eyes._

 _"_ _It's bad, Doc," said Al. "I think he's on his way out."_

 _"_ _That's your diagnosis, is it," Martin replied, grimly._

 _"_ _Yeah."_

 _"_ _All right." Martin took out the drill and opened his medical bag._

 _"_ _What's he doin' up here anyway?"_

 _"_ _Uh, stealing chough eggs." He took out the drill. "Hold this, Al. And contracting a bacterial infection from bird faeces."_

 _"_ _He'll be all right though, won't he?"_

 _"_ _His, uh, optic nerve is swollen due to the increased intracranial pressure. Means that your first diagnosis could well be right. He's not going to make it. Unless… I need to… relieve the pressure… on his brain."_

 _Martin began using gel sanitizer to sterilize the drill bit and the patient's forehead._

 _"_ _How are you gonna do that?" Al suddenly realized what the drill was for. "Oohh, oh Doc! How do you know if you drill far enough?!"_

 _"_ _His eyes will open."_

 _Martin took some deep breaths to steady himself for this unconventional surgery, then he placed the drill precisely against the patient's skull and drilled carefully. The Baker's eyes popped open right on cue. Martin and Al simultaneously sighed with relief and Martin bandaged the wound._

 _Gripping his patient to him, Martin was then winched up, leaving the drill forgotten on the ledge. Al had to free climb behind them, still with the bag he had been sent to retrieve slung over his back._

 _As the reached the top, the others helped them up. "Don't touch his head," Martin cautioned, as they laid the Baker on a blanket._

 _Jonathan could not be distracted from his mission. "Gimme that bag."_

 _"_ _Ohhh, you're kidding right?!" Al responded._

"Give it!"

 _Trying to tend to his patient, Martin had had enough. He got up and grabbed the gun away._

"Gimme that," _Jonathan persisted._

 _"_ _No!" Martin barked, pulling off the harness and stepping out of it. "Pauline, call an ambulance. Tell them to expect a man with an intracranial bleed, treated_ successfully _by emergency trepanation. Accompanied by a really annoying man who needs sectioning under the Mental Health Act."_

 _"_ _Me?" Jonathan seemingly couldn't understand why anyone would find him annoying._

 _Pauline was too upset to call, so Louisa gently took the phone from her and walked away from the commotion to dial 999._

 _"_ _Al? Lock those explosives in the boot of my car before someone gets blown up." Martin handed Al the keys._

"Explosives?!"

 _In all the excitement, Martin realized he had neglected to warn the plumber about the bag's contents. "Oh come on, Al. You carried them up a cliff, you'll survive the trip to the car."_

 _"_ _I'll take that now, thank you," the Colonel said. He still wanted his gun back but Martin had also had enough of dangerous weaponry. "No, you won't. Al, lock that up too."_

 _"_ _I'm not going to put up with this, you know," the Colonel protested._

 _"_ _Don't be ridiculous…" Martin berated him. As Martin talked, he was dimly aware that the Baker was rousing enough from his stupor to take from his pocket the precious chough egg that had managed to survive everything so far._

 _"_ _It's the chip!" Jonathan said. He took the little speckled egg and squished it between his fingers. "Thank you, sir." He saluted the baffled Baker and walked away._

 _Louisa finished her call and snapped the mobile shut. "On their way," she said, walking back to Martin. She dabbed gently at the scrape on Martin's face._

 _"_ _Oh… thank you." He was touched by her concern._

 _"_ _Martin. Um…" She started to say something, but she was evidently self conscious that her father was watching so she walked away to talk to him instead._

 _Martin went back to examining the Baker when Jonathan showed up carrying the bag again and a crowbar._

 _"_ _So uh, I gotta take off then, folks," he said, as if he had just stopped in for tea._

 _"_ _Where did you get that bag from?" Martin demanded._

 _"_ _I just got the crowbar from Big Plumber Man's van and pried your car door open." He handed the crowbar to Bert. "So thanks for that. I feel, uh… thanks for all your help."_

 _Jonathan threw the bag onto the Baker, ignoring the poor man's groans, and held out his hand to Martin in a delusional gesture of reconciliation. This was the last straw. Martin grabbed the bag._

 _"_ _Give that, give that back!"_

 _"_ _No!"_

 _"_ _Give that back to me!"_

"Shut! Up!

 _Furious, Martin grabbed the bag, they scuffled, and he hurled it over the cliff to the ledge where they had just been._

 **KABOOM!**

 _Everyone was shocked into silence. In the distance sirens began rapidly approaching._

 _"_ _Excuse me," Martin. He took his medical bag and stalked away._

 _To be continued…_


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52: What They Had In Common

"That Day"

 _It was only when the police finally arrived from Delabole that Martin could relax a bit and survey the damage to his car, where Jonathan had pried the boot open. The boot had to be fastened closed with a bit of cord. Fortunately, the mental patient had only taken the bag of explosives out and not the shotgun, which Martin turned over to the police. The Baker and Jonathan were taken off in separate ambulances, the police put Terry Glasson under arrest, and Martin, Bert, and the Colonel drove everyone to the station to give their statements._

 _One by one they were called in to give their eyewitness accounts about exactly what had happened at the Portwenn Surgery and at the cliff. Martin was one of the last to be called. He had some trouble convincing the detective in charge that he was not culpable for having blown up a nesting pair of rare birds, but the moronic detective finally accepted that it was an accident that happened in the course of keeping the mental patient who had caused all the trouble in the first place from making off with some dangerous explosives._

 _When Martin came out, Louisa was the last to be called in. He sat alone in the waiting area, unsure of what to do next. The adrenaline surge he had felt at the cliffs had long since worn off, the aches and pains of having been dangled and dropped amongst the rocks were kicking in, and, worst of all, his suit was filthy and tattered. He hated looking and feeling so untidy. Still, he decided to wait for Louisa to be finished._

 _A moment later, Terry Glasson was brought out from the holding area, his wounded arm bandaged but no longer in a sling as his hands were cuffed behind his back. He sat down, apparently awaiting a police van to take him away to a more secure location. Martin tried to ignore him._

 _Terry twitched his nose. "Hey mate, do me a favour and scratch my nose, eh? Can't exactly do it myself, can I."_

 _"_ _No."_

 _Terry lifted his knee and with some difficulty managed to rub his nose against it. There was an awkward silence, then he spoke again. "You know, you and me, we've maybe got more in common than you realize."_

 _Martin stared into the distance, but then couldn't resist retorting. "What could we_ possibly _have in common?"_

 _"_ _I seen the way you look at my girl Louisa and how she looks at you. She told me a bit about you, how you left your fine life in London_ _due to a professional setback and came out here to set up shop."_

 _He smiled and went on. "I was once a young man, born and raised in London_ _myself. Not in the same circles as you I'm sure, but still I had my friends, my business dealings, life was good. Then I ran afoul of some higher placed colleagues, due to a… let's just call it a_ misunderstanding _about the handling of some payments to them. I decided to leave town for a while, but I didn't have any plan. Just got in my old car and headed west, kept driving until I saw the ocean. Found myself in the quaintest little village you can imagine, Portwenn. Like a picture off a biscuit tin, it was. I never intended to stay long, it was just a place where I could hide from my problems till I figured things cooled down back home."_

 _"_ _So what happened?" Martin asked, reluctant to admit his curiosity was piqued._

 _"_ _Eleanor Wilder, the postman's daughter, that's what happened. I was living at the Crab, got a job as a deckhand on a lobster boat. Nosy parkers in town wanted to know all about me, first new face in town in years. They wanted to fix me up with some local girl but I managed to fend them off. I only meant to be in Cornwall_ _a few weeks, maybe six months at most, but the very first day Eleanor crossed my path and fate kept throwing us together. The prettiest girl in the village, she was then, with her ginger hair and hazel green eyes, and a feisty spirit too. She was like the very spirit of Cornwall_ _come alive and she and Cornwall_ _together seduced me."_

 _Terry was smiling broadly now as he remembered. "We flirted and danced around each other until we couldn't keep apart no more. Soon she was pregnant so we got married and settled down, had a kid and then a second one. But we were like chalk and cheese, as they say. Fought like cats and dogs till one day she just took off for sunnier climes. My Cornish girl found herself a Latin lover and I was left behind in my little Cornish village with my two Cornish children. I stuck with it though, worked steady jobs mostly, took care of my kids as best I was able… till the gossip mill got them villagers all pointing their fingers at me over the missing Lifeboat money."_

 _"_ _Hm. Hardly an unfair accusation, from what I understand."_

 _"_ _Oh yeah, I forgot Joan Norton is your aunt." Terry's smile disappeared. "In any case, things were uncomfortable for me here, my kids were old enough to fend for themselves by then. My boy Tommy left for sunnier climes, he always took after his Mum, and Louisa was off to university. So I went back to London, bought myself a small house, took in some lodgers for extra income, and set up some new business dealings."_

 _"_ _Business dealings that included smuggling dangerous materials for use in a planned warehouse burglary," Martin retorted. "Not to mention having a mentally unstable partner in your criminal enterprise."_

 _"_ _Oh, I know it's easy for a posh bloke like you to scoff at the likes of me. Don't blame you, really. It's just that…well, you should give me credit for the one thing in life I did really well, brought up my girl Louisa." He began to smile again. "You'd never expect a rare flower like her to come up from rocky soil like me. She got herself through university all on her own, the first person on either side of the family to do that, and got herself a good career. Now she's a pillar of the community, Portwenn's pride and joy, and she deserves every bit of success she's had. She deserves to have a good man too, someone solid who'll take care of her and appreciate her for what she is… and not look down on her for having a Dad like me."_

 _Martin didn't want to admit the man's words hit a bit close to home. "Er… I suppose I've no right to look down on anyone else for the character of their parents."_

 _Terry chuckled. "You mean everything wasn't all love and kisses in the elegant Ellingham household when you were brought up?"_

 _"_ _Hm. Hardly."_

 _They were both quiet a moment, then Terry spoke up again._

"They f- you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

But they were f-ed up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don't have any kids yourself."

 _Martin grunted. "Philip Larkin."_

 _"_ _That's right. Don't look so surprised, a thievin' geezer like me spoutin' poetry. Me and Louisa and Tommy used to love sharing poetry when we were all together. Not Larkin though, obviously."_

 _"_ _Obviously, you didn't take Larkin's advice."_

 _"_ _Nah, I can't blame my actions on my own miserable parents, much as I wanted to when I was younger. And I went on to be a dad myself and damn glad I did, Louisa's the best thing I ever did in my life by far. Me and Eleanor both, we didn't do right by her, but she turned out OK. You'd never know she had a thief and a deserter for her Dad and Mum."_

 _Martin wondered if that were really true, if perhaps Louisa had psychic scars that were visible if one looked beneath the surface._

 _"_ _Anyway," Terry continued, "it's the primal urge to become a parent. I suspect you'll find that out yourself soon enough."_

 _"_ _Hm." Martin responded only by checking on Terry's bandages. "Everything seems fine there."_

 _The constable came in to announce the police van had arrived. Terry stood up and twitched his nose again. He said to Martin, "would you mind, mate?"_

 _Slowly, reluctantly, Martin reached out and scratched Terry's nose._

 _To be continued…_

Disclaimer: I derive no profit from my (expurgated) quoting of "This Be The Verse" by the late Philip Larkin, and I would never dream of infringing on any rights of whoever owns the copyright for the poem now.


	53. Chapter 53

_Previously:_ Martin, as well as Al and Pauline, have each had their moment to look back at the traumatic events surrounding the Crazy Jonathan hostage situation, now it's Louisa's turn to think about how she remembers it all and how it affected her.

Chapter 53: Louisa Thinks Back

Saturday Morning and Evening

With morning sunlight pouring through the window, Louisa sat at her laptop on the kitchen table and read through the news on the Cornish Chronicle website. A robbery in Wadebridge, a traffic accident in Camelford, she was relieved to see there was nothing much for Portwenn after all the excitement lately.

She checked her email. Nothing. She checked her mobile. No messages, no voice mail. Surely things had settled down now and Martin could have contacted her today.

Hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago he had drunkenly professed his love for her, then the next day in a hung over haze accused her of having a fixation on him, and then the day after that followed her to the fishmonger's to give her a birthday card and ask her to dinner.

She recalled how he came up behind her at the fishmonger's.

 _"_ _Ah, Louisa."_

 _She was startled to see him. "Are you following me?'_

 _"_ _No. I wasn't… I've, I've been to see Mrs. Tishell." He definitely sounded like he was fumbling for an explanation._

 _"_ _Well, I'd hate to accuse you of stalking, for I know what it's like to be accused of being something that you're not. Like, I don't know, a certain doctor claiming that I suffered from delusional romantic attachments."_

 _"_ _Perhaps when I said that I was being…."_

 _"_ _Rude?"_

 _"_ _I hadn't thought through the diagnosis."_

 _"_ _And that's your apology?"_

 _"_ _I didn't apologize."_

 _So like him, so aggravating, she thought. Then she noticed he had something in his hand. "What's this?"_

 _"_ _It's a card."_

 _She felt herself softening toward him in spite of herself. "Martin."_

 _"_ _Happy birthday."_

 _"_ _Joan put you up to this, did she."_

 _"_ _It's a birthday card," he said, stating the obvious._

 _"_ _Oh I see, thank you." She opened the envelope. It was indeed a card, with a stern-looking Elizabethan portrait on the front. Inside it read "Birthday Greetings, from Martin." So plain, so unromantic, and yet coming from him it was an extraordinary gesture._

 _Shyly looking down at his feet, he said, "And I was wondering, perhaps if you weren't doing anything later, you might have, um, dinner with me?"_

Sitting at her kitchen table, Louisa realized now that she had ignored Martin's lovely request, completely distracted at that moment by a very unexpected sight.

 _"_ _Dad! I don't believe it. What are you doing here? You should have called."_

 _"_ _Wouldn't have been a surprise then would it. Oh you look beautiful. Yes, you do, just like your mother."_

 _She introduced the man in her life to the other man in her life. "Terry, this is Dr. Ellingham. My Dad."_

 _"_ _I thought he was dead," Martin said, with his usual bluntness._

 _"_ _I never said that."_

 _"_ _Oh, I must have dreamt it." Martin seemed genuinely surprised by this turn of events._

 _"_ _What happened to old Doc Sim then?" Dad inquired._

 _"_ _Oh, he is dead," Martin replied._

 _"_ _Tosser!" A passing woman shouted._

 _"_ _Ah don't worry, that was meant for me. Local dialect for welcome back," Dad said. Louisa wondered if she should have taken that as a sign._

 _"_ _Oh. Ah, I have to go," Martin said, and abruptly left._

 _"_ _I bet he's the life and soul of the party," Dad said wryly._

 _"_ _Oh, Martin's all right. He's just different," Louisa said._

Now in the present she thought, yes he's just different. Maybe it was time they had that birthday dinner. No point in moping about, or expecting that shy, endearing, and frustrating man to make the first move. She went to his number at the top of her contacts and rang it.

"Ellingham!" His usual gruff greeting.

"Martin, it's…"

"Louisa!" he exclaimed before she could say her name. His voice completely changed. Even though it had been only a few hours since they had spoken, she felt a thrill hearing his low, warm tones again.

"You asked if I wanted to have dinner with you. A few weeks ago when it was my birthday, I mean."

"Er, yes."

"Is the offer still open?"

"Yes, of course…. Er, are you free tonight?" He was stuttering and bashful, which she found charming in a man who was outwardly so dignified and confident.

"Oh wait, sorry, tonight's not good. Some of the teachers and staff are meeting at the Crab for a few drinks, you know, before the new school term starts Monday. I was thinking Sunday. I do have some things I need to take care of for school then but I think I can spare a little while."

"Right. I mean… er, good. Sunday would be good. You could come here. Say, 6 o'clock?"

"Yes, I'll be there at 6."

ooOOOOOoo

Down at the Crab Saturday evening, Louisa sat with her friends and colleagues, amid the sounds of clinking glasses, happy chatter, and the squawking of the parrot.

Though she had been in the pub many times before, it seemed full of recent memories now. She couldn't help thinking of the last time she had been here, just a few weeks ago, with her father remarking how the place hadn't changed in the long years since he had last been there.

Yeah, she though, same old faces, same old gossips, same old décor, same old squawking bird. Except for her time at university, and a few years in London afterward, she had lived her whole life in this village. And yet everything seemed fresh and new in the past year, ever since a certain tall doctor had moved into the stone cottage up Roscarrock Hill.

So much had happened since then it was hard to make sense of it all. Even with her recent time away from Portwenn she felt like she hadn't really processed the events that made her want to get away from the village in the first place.

Now she sat on the balcony, sipping a glass of wine, only half listening to the conversation around her. Everyone was buzzing about the recent events, but her mind was elsewhere, and all the while she was surreptitiously glancing up at the stone cottage, hoping for some sign of him, even just a light coming on in a window.

The last time she was in the pub was with Dad and his strange friend. They were sitting on this very balcony, talking and trying to ignore the local gossipers eyeing them, as Jonathan obsessed about the parrot and babbled about surveillance. His behaviour that day should have been a warning sign for what came… later.

She had defended her father to the gossipers that day, telling them they should be ashamed of themselves. But now, she was the one who was ashamed of herself, for having deceived herself about him for so long.

Later that evening, when it was just her and Dad alone, having dinner at her home, she couldn't ignore the humiliating truth any longer.

 _"_ _Dad, I need to know. Did you take that money?"_

 _"_ _No, I didn't. I might be many things but I'm not a thief." He sounded dead serious. She still felt that little girl inside her who so desperately wanted to believe him, but she pushed on._

 _"_ _When one person tells you that you're wrong you can ignore them but when it's a whole village… it's hard. You know every day I have to ask myself - am I being a fool still believing in you? I… I know how hard it must have been for you bringing us up after Mum left."_

 _He continued to deny it. "That money was for the lifeboats. Do you really think that I'd stoop that low?"_

 _"_ _So Joan… Joan never caught you, she never saw you take it? She's lying as well?"_

 _Dad got up to put his dish in the sink, avoiding her glance and muttering, "Joan. Meddling cow."_

 _Louisa was tearful by now. "How could you?"_

 _"_ _I had gambling debts, big debts. There was this horse, a sure thing. When it won I was gonna pay the money back. Of course…" He trailed off._

 _"_ _I meant how could you lie to me all these years? How could you let me make a fool of myself in front of my friends? In front of the_ whole village? _"_

 _"_ _I'm sorry," was all he said._

 _"_ _I think… I think you should leave in the morning, Dad."_

It was so hard to say that to him but it had to be said.

Louisa could now see her father for what he was, but was she delusional about the other man in her life? Could he really be the one to make her happy? The events of _That Day_ kept running through her mind in a jumble of thoughts.

She thought of how disappointing and inadequate Martin was when they were being threatened by Jonathan, when Jonathan pulled a knife on her to get her to call Dad back to the village. Martin just seemed so incapable of handling the situation.

When Martin was trying to placate Jonathan, he might have succeeded but he just came right out and said he wanted to sedate the nutter and call the police. She bitterly suggested Pauline get a gag for Martin, a thoughtless joke she now regretted.

She thought of how when Martin attempted to distract Jonathan, telling him "Things seem muddled for you now but… uh, you're amongst friends," he could only manage to lunge and toss a lamp ineffectually at the dangerous man.

She even thought about how when Jonathan said she should take the boat out to meet the Spanish trawler, and she was forced to admit she probably wasn't strong enough to handle the boat, she could have said she and Pauline together could have done it if they had to. And then the absurdity of her and Martin bickering over the proper Spanish phrase Al should use when he met the trawler - was it _Terry_ _mi mando a por el paquete_ , or _Terry_ _mi mando a por_ _la_ _paquete_? Really, when she looked back it seemed more like a farce than anything.

But then she thought about how Martin took a genuine interest in Jonathan's complaints about his headaches, trying to find a correlation between migraines and bipolar disorder, always putting his duty to a patient even ahead of his own safety. He was so caught up in trying to find a diagnosis he almost missed Louisa and Pauline frantically signalling that Jonathan had put the knife down. Their urging him to attack Jonathan, even though he was partially tied up, almost got him stabbed. And then when Dad burst in and took the brunt of Jonathan's violent knife attack, Martin was the one to tend to him.

Martin wasn't exactly a man of action but he really was a good man to have around in a crisis, she realized.

Her jumbled thoughts drifted into a clear memory of what had happened after Jonathan made them all leave the surgery and drive to the cliffs.

 _To be continued…_


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54: Over The Edge and Beyond

"That Day" (Louisa's flashback continues)

 _Martin drove them all there in the Lexus, with Dad beside him up front. Louisa was stuck in the back seat next to the horrid Jonathan, who was fingering the shotgun the whole time, as she stared at the back of the two men who meant most to her in the world._

 _It was a confused commotion at the cliffs, with Martin, Jonathan, and the Colonel arguing, but at least she was free and breathing the fresh sea air, not cooped up in the sweltering car, or worse - tied up in the surgery._

 _Poor Ted Hammett was lying unconscious on a ledge, where Al had seen him fall, but it seemed he was actually suffering from a bacterial infection that was somehow related to him stealing chough's eggs._

 _Then Bert arrived with his plumber's van and it became clear that Martin was going to have to rappel down the cliff to get to the patient. It was equally clear he did not want to do this, but he rose to the situation, stepped into the harness, and began the climb down, with the aid of the winch and the Colonel holding the line taut._

 _Louisa and the others watched anxiously from the cliff edge as he carefully made his way down._

 _Then his descent stopped with a jerk. The winch ran out of cable and Martin was left dangling a few feet above the ledge, helpless, clutching his medical bag in his left hand._

 _"_ _It's only another few feet!" Louisa cried._

 _"_ _That's the end of the cable," Bert said. "Hold on!"_

 _Bert drove the van closer and suddenly there was too much cable. Martin fell the rest of the way to the ledge, right onto his patient. To Louisa, watching from above, he seemed stunned for a moment but quickly sprang into action to examine the poor man._

 _She was horrified to see what he meant to use Bert's drill for, but she had confidence in his ability to handle this unconventional surgery. Ted's eyes popped open and Martin bandaged the wound, keeping his nausea at the sight of blood under control._

 _Gripping his patient to him, Martin was then winched up, leaving the drill forgotten on the ledge. Al had to free climb behind them, still with the bag he had been sent to retrieve slung over his back. Louisa and the others helped them up._

 _"_ _Don't touch his head," Martin cautioned, as they laid Ted on a blanket._

 _Jonathan could not be distracted from his mission. "Gimme that bag."_

 _"_ _Ohhh, you're kidding right?!" Al responded._

"Give it!"

 _Trying to tend to his patient, Martin had had enough. He got up and grabbed the gun away._

 _"_ _Gimme that," Jonathan persisted._

 _"_ _No!" Martin barked, pulling off the harness and stepping out of it. "Pauline, call an ambulance. Tell them to expect a man with an intracranial bleed, treated_ successfully _by emergency trepanation. Accompanied by a really annoying man who needs sectioning under the Mental Health Act."_

 _"_ _Me?" Jonathan seemingly couldn't understand why anyone would find him annoying._

 _Pauline was too upset to call, so Louisa gently took the phone from her to dial 999, happy to have an excuse to step away from the commotion. It wasn't easy to explain the situation to the dispatcher but she managed to stay calm and do it._

 _Louisa finished her call and snapped the mobile shut. "On their way," she said, walking back to Martin. She dabbed gently at the scrape on Martin's face._

 _"_ _Oh… thank you." He seemed touched by her concern._

 _"_ _Martin. Um…" She wasn't sure what she wanted to say, feeling self conscious that her father was watching, so she moved away to talk to Dad. She didn't know what to say to him either._

 _"_ _I do love you," he said. "I better go."_

 _"_ _Dad? Bye," was all she said as he walked away._

 _Meanwhile, Martin was engaged in an escalating argument with Jonathan, who had somehow managed to get the bag back. Louisa was relieved to see at least he didn't have the gun again._

 _Furious, Martin grabbed the bag, they scuffled, and he hurled it over the cliff to the ledge where they had just been._

 **KABOOM!**

 _Everyone was shocked into silence. In the distance sirens began rapidly approaching._

 _"_ _Excuse me," Martin. He took his medical bag and stalked away._

 _As the police finally arrived from Delabole they went after Dad, who had not managed to get far on foot. Ted and Jonathan were taken off in separate ambulances, and Martin, Bert, and the Colonel drove everyone to the station to give their statements._

 _One by one they were called in to give their eyewitness accounts about exactly what had happened at the Portwenn Surgery and at the cliff, then they were free to leave._

 _When Martin came out, Louisa was the last to be called in._

 _Fortunately the detective in charge had realized Martin was not culpable for having blown up a nesting pair of rare birds, but that it was an accident that happened in the course of keeping the mental patient who had caused all the trouble in the first place from making off with some dangerous explosives._

 _Louisa gave her account of everything, from Dad showing up in the village unexpectedly after many years' absence to the tense conclusion at the cliffs. She pointed out that her father had changed his mind about his criminal plan and been stabbed by his crazy friend, but she was careful to be honest about his role in instigating the whole chain of events._

 _It took almost an hour to tell the story and she was emotionally exhausted by the end. The constable who was taking the notes thanked her. "It's not everyone who can own up to their old Dad's misdeeds," he said. "You'd be surprised how often people are in complete denial about what their loved ones have been up to."_

 _"_ _Oh, I can believe it," she replied. "That was me once, but never again."_

 _She went out to the waiting room, and was surprised to see Martin sitting there, his mobile in his lap and his head back against the chair, having nodded off. She was touched to see he had waited all this time, long after everyone else had left. She sat next to him and he roused, giving one of his little half smiles when he saw her._

 _"_ _I thought you might need a ride home," he said._

 _"_ _Yes, thanks. I was afraid I'd have to call a taxi."_

 _They drove home in companionable silence, with classical music playing softly on the radio as evening darkness fell. As they reached the outskirts of the village, Martin asked if she would like to come back to the surgery for some dinner._

 _"_ _It's been a long day," he said. "I have some of Joan's homemade chicken soup, if you'd like. I… er, would understand if you'd prefer to go straight home."_

 _"_ _No, chicken soup sounds perfect," she said. "I don't have anything at home. I've had nothing to eat since breakfast. I expect you haven't either."_

 _"_ _Mm." He nodded in agreement._

 _The Lexus pulled into its designated spot and they went in by the kitchen door. Louisa could see Martin was disturbed by the disorder Jonathan had left behind. She too felt disturbed to see reminders of their recent ordeal. "You tidy up, I'll get the soup ready," she said._

 _She heated it up, found some salad, and bread and butter, and set the kitchen table. They dined together with small talk, casually avoiding mentioning the disturbing events of the day. "That hit the spot," she said afterward. "The weather's turned chilly, I needed something warm me up."_

 _"_ _Hmm," Martin said, sounding more thoughtful than his usual grunt. "Why don't you wash up. I'll put the kettle on… and, um, light a fire."_

 _"_ _Oh, Martin!" she said, pleased. "I didn't think you ever used the fireplace. The logs must have been stacked in there since Dr. Sim lived here."_

 _"_ _I used it occasionally last winter, it does get rather raw in Portwenn at times, especially with the cottage being up high and facing out to sea. The logs have only been sitting there since March. I_ do _know how to light a fire, you know."_

 _He got the fireplace in the living room going, and set the tea things out there. Joining him, she poured the tea and put some milk in hers._

 _"_ _Martin," she said. "I want to apologize."_

 _"_ _For what?"_

 _"_ _For getting angry at you the other day, when you said Joan had caught my Dad stealing the Lifeboat money. I pushed my ice cream cone into your face. That was very immature of me. I just couldn't face the truth about Dad then."_

 _He averted his pale blue-grey eyes, as if embarrassed she brought up the incident. "Yes, well, perhaps I was rather tactless about it. I apologize for that."_

 _Louisa sipped her tea and settled back into the sofa cushions. "And do you remember what we were talking about before. I mean, earlier today, before we were… so rudely interrupted."_

 _"_ _Hm, yes it was today. Seems like weeks ago, doesn't it."_

 _"_ _It does, but I haven't forgotten. I told you I wanted you to stay. I never got to hear your answer, but I did hear you tell that man, Gavin Peters, that you were willing to take his course. I need to know, were you serious? I mean, I know you just wanted to get rid of him because of… well, the situation we were in at that moment."_

 _He put down his teacup and turned to face her directly. "Louisa, I was serious, and I am serious. I want to stay, if_ you _want me to stay, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes. Even, er… if it means going through a two-week course on people skills."_

 _It thrilled her to hear him say this. "And you'll make an effort to try to be more civil, more_ patient, _with the villagers? I know they're enough to try anyone's patience at times, and they're not the most accepting of outsiders, but a little politeness can go a long way."_

 _"_ _Yes, as I said, whatever it takes." He sighed, but she could tell he was sincere._

 _She leaned forward and took his hand, stroking it. The cuff of his shirt moved up slightly and she was shocked to see his wrist was bruised. She took his other hand and saw that wrist was bruised too._

 _"_ _Hm," Martin said, seeing her reaction. "Jonathan was, er… a bit rougher in tying me up than he was with you and Pauline. Obviously he saw me as more of a threat."_

 _He ducked his head and in the flickering firelight she could see him look pained. She pushed back his sleeves and ever so gently brought first one wrist and then the other up to her lips and kissed the tender spots. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"_

 _"_ _No," he replied, his voice now low and subdued. "It was just descending the cliff that caused a bit of soreness, from the, er… harness, and then the fall."_

 _She had to lean in to hear him and then slowly, slowly, she moved her hands from his wrists to his jacket, unbuttoning it and moving up to loosen and open his tie. She moved onto his lap and slowly and deliberately undid each shirt button, with no resistance from him, and slid her hands inside his shirt, against the thin cotton vest, sliding her hands across his chest and massaging the strong muscles of his shoulders. He leaned back on the sofa, his eyes half closed, his breathing now coming in little sighs._

 _"_ _A nice hot bath is what you need," she murmured. She meant it innocently enough, as a suggestion to sooth his aches and pains, but as soon as it came out she realized how seductive it sounded. She blushed a bit but was fine with it._

 _The tips of his ears turned pink, his eyes opened wide, and he was about to speak. Then they both felt the vibration of his mobile in his jacket pocket and tensed up a moment. "Don't answer it," she said. He took it out and tossed it on the end table. They eased back down again and her hands resumed roaming his chest. His hands began slowly exploring the curve of her bum. Again he opened his mouth to speak… and the landline rang._

 _They both tensed up again and groaned. The answer phone kicked on. "Portwenn Surgery," said Pauline's voice. "Please leave a message." Beep._

 _"_ _Hey Doc, Chippy Miller here. I know you were grabbing up all those pasties at the contest today but I managed to down one of 'em, pasties always been my favourite see, and now, um… well, you were right Doc, they were no good." Chippy paused and gave out a miserable groan. "Feel like I'm gonna die. You've got to come round and take a look."_

 _Martin scoffed. "That idiot!"_

 _"_ _Mar-tin!" she scolded. "He sounds really sick!" She reluctantly began buttoning his shirt again, and moved off his lap onto the sofa. "I suppose the evening is spoiled now. I really should get home. I'm exhausted and I'll be leaving tomorrow."_

 _"_ _What?! Where are you going?"_

 _"_ _The constable said they're transferring my Dad to Dartmoor. I thought I'd visit him there, I have… some things I need to say to him. And I might go stay with a friend in London_ _for a few days, I just… I just need to get away. It's been a trying experience for all of us, but I have to face the fact that I've, well, I've been deceiving myself about my Dad all these years. It's just a few days Martin, I need a bit of space, some time to myself."_

 _She could tell he was sad as he cleared the tea things and brought them back to the kitchen. He took his medical bag and accompanied her to the front door. "Please call me as soon as you're ready to come home." He hesitated. "You know… I'll miss you."_

 _"_ _I'll miss you too. I'll be back before you know it."_

 _As he went to open the door, she had a sudden thought. "You know, you could go judge the pig farmers' look-alike contest at Bodmin Fair. It's coming up in a week and I know the farmers would love to have you. Dr. Sim used to do it. It'll get you on the road to people accepting you and it'll take your mind off me being away."_

 _She could see he wasn't too happy about this idea. "Please Martin, as a favour to me?"_

 _"_ _Oh, all right."_

 _She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and could see the tips of his ears turn pink again. Then they each went on their way._

To be continued…


	55. Chapter 55

_Previously:_ Having given some thought to the recent traumatic events and her interactions with Martin, Louisa is now ready for her birthday dinner with him.

Chapter 55: Magic and Mystery

Sunday Evening

It was a soft warm evening as Louisa made her way up Roscarrock Hill to the surgery.

Martin opened the kitchen door, clearly pleased to see her. He almost smiled, Louisa noted, smiling to herself. She was glad she wore her green floral summer dress that flattered her figure and brought out the green in her hazel eyes.

"I brought a bottle of Perrier, I know you prefer to drink water with dinner," she said, handing over the chilled bottle. "What are you cooking? It smells delicious."

"I've prepared some grilled mackerel with a saffron risotto. Saffron is rich in B vitamins and essential minerals."

"Oh, that's good to know. And it's such a lovely colour."

"Mm. Did you have any trouble… er, outside on the terrace?"

"No." She was a bit confused by his question. "Why, what sort of trouble?"

"Er, just a seagull. It's been hanging about, being troublesome. It mostly doesn't seem to bother anyone else, just me. I've been trying to… er, discourage it."

"Oh, I didn't see anything. I expect it'll sort itself out eventually."

"Mm."

Martin poured them each a glass of the sparkling water and she helped him set the table. "Do you have candles?"

He looked puzzled. "Not many. Torches are much more practical. Why, are you expecting a power outage? It's not even dark out."

"No, silly. For the table. Some tall slender tapers, for ambience."

Martin rummaged in a cupboard and came out with a pair of stubby candles in mismatching glass jars, and a box of matches. "Left over from Dr. Sim," he explained.

"They'll have to do." Louisa lit them and put them on the table.

Martin plated their meal and they sat down together to eat.

"Er, while you were away I went to judge the pig farmers' look-alike contest at Bodmin Fair, as you suggested," he said. "I haven't had a chance to tell you until now."

"Oh Martin, did you really? That's wonderful. Did you enjoy at the fair? Oh of course not, I don't know what I was thinking," she said quickly, in response to his slight frown. "Well, the important thing is you made the effort."

She sipped her Perrier and changed the subject. "So how's Pauline doing then?"

"Fine, I suppose," Martin shrugged. "She's just had a two-week holiday, during which she left silly greetings on the office answer phone. I made her delete them yesterday. Anyway, how should I know how she is?"

"You should take an interest, Martin. You work with her every day. She's probably feeling low because Al's leaving town."

"I see." Martin cut up his mackerel, and then seemingly had to admit some interest in the topic. "I did advise Al to get out and see more of the world, now that he's earned some extra money. Did he say where he's going?"

"He wants to travel abroad. Going to Africa for an adventure I understand, looking for a challenge."

"Hm. Glad to hear it. Although sometimes it seems like just being in Portwenn is a challenge."

Louisa sighed. "Well, I think things will finally calm down and get back to normal now. At least I hope so." She took a bite of risotto. "Pauline and Al have certainly had their ups and downs. I suppose if it's meant to be for them, it'll happen no matter what. But on the other hand, they seem to be at cross purposes so much lately. Maybe it's for the best if they have some time away from each other. Oh, I don't know, relationships can be so confusing." She took a sip of Perrier, wishing it was a glass of wine.

"People can fool themselves into staying loyal to someone who really doesn't have their best interests at heart," she continued. "Look at Michael Wenn. It's so odd for him to decide to stay with his wife after all that's come out about her. Seems like it wasn't fate that brought them together after all, but her _stalking_ him, except she was rather more obsessed with his fancy house than with him."

Louisa knew she was deliberating needling Martin by bringing up the subject of stalking, but it still stung that he had accused her of that behaviour not so long ago. However, he seemed not to notice.

"Well, yes," Martin replied, "their relationship started out on a deceptive basis. He seems to have been rather won over by her in spite of it. The heart has its reasons, I suppose."

"People can be blind about those they love, whether it's a romantic partner or a family member," Louisa mused. "I'm afraid I've learned that lesson the hard way. It caused me to wake up shaking some nights while I was away. In a way, facing the truth about my Dad was just as traumatic as being threatened and held hostage by a mental patient."

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, I am. So much has happened since then, now I feel like the circus has left town and life is getting back to normal. It's all turned out for the best I think. So yes, slowly but surely, I'm feeling better."

"Mm." Martin frowned slightly. "I must admit, I found it difficult to understand why you would so loyally defend your father when he was so obviously unworthy." He ducked his head in that familiar way Louisa found so endearing. "I'm not judging your relatives, it's just that… I suppose my own parents never inspired that sort of loyalty in me. My father never did, certainly. For most of my life, I thought my mother at least harboured some maternal feeling toward me. I needed to believe it when I was younger, but I was, er… recently disabused of that notion. So, I suppose I should sympathize with your situation with your father. I do sympathize."

He paused for a bite and looked thoughtful. "My Aunt Joan said to me recently the funny thing about families is loyalty is but a step away from delusion. Perhaps love is the same way."

"A delusion? You mean, like De Clérambault's Syndrome?" Louisa teased him more directly this time but she could see from his expression he was pained that she brought bringing it up so she regretted it.

"Er, no. That was a mistaken diagnosis, a very unfortunate mistake on my part." He looked at her very sincerely. "Louisa, I'm very sorry I said it that time."

"But you also said that love was a difficult word then. You were right about that," she countered.

"Mm. And I seem to remember you said we've known each other quite a while now. We've been through a lot together." He gave a half smile. "There are theories about the psychoanalytical and hormonal aspects of, er… romantic attraction, but there are some other undefined aspects as well, that could be considered…."

"You mean, like _mystery_ and _magic_." She smiled slyly.

"Well yes, I suppose… Mystery and, um… magic."

"Martin, you're doing quite well for a man who said he doesn't talk." She chuckled. "And I didn't even have to get you drunk this time."

"Yes, well, perhaps I'm learning."

"Yes, perhaps we both are," she replied.

Dinner finished, Martin took the plates to the sink and washed them as they waited for the kettle to boil. When the tea was ready, he suggested they move to the living room.

"It's a lovely evening, like summer's back again. Hard to believe the last time I was here it was so chilly you lit a fire," Louisa said as she sat on the sofa.

Martin picked up the candles and brought them into the living room. "This room doesn't get much light in the evenings. And the candles do create… as you said, a pleasing ambience."

He set the tea tray on the coffee table and Louisa was surprised to see he had included a plate with two little fairy cakes, each with a pink flower iced on the top. "I thought you didn't like cake," she teased him.

"I don't. These are both for you. My aunt made them. They're rather light, and I, um… thought you would enjoy them, seeing as we never got to have dinner together on your birthday."

"Oh Martin," she said, delighted. "You never cease to amaze me." She poured the tea for them both and put some milk in hers. "You remember the last time we were here… before we were interrupted."

"Mm. Yes, I do."

Even in the fading light she could see the tips of his ears turning pink. His voice took on that deep warm tone that she loved. He leaned toward her and their lips met in a deep lingering kiss. He pulled back and looked her in the eye.

"Louisa, I…"

The landline rang.

They groaned together. The answer phone kicked on. "Portwenn Surgery," said Pauline's voice. "Please leave a message." _Beep._

"Hey Doc… Chippy Miller here. Hate to bother you on a Sunday evening but I was cutting up an avocado, see, to make some avocado toast. The wife likes it for dinner. Anyway, I was holding it to slice it up and the knife went through a little too quick and went right into my hand. It's bleeding all over, the avocado toast is ruined. I really need to you to take a look."

Martin scoffed. "That _idiot!_ "

" _Mar_ -tin!" she scolded. "It sounds like a real emergency!" She sighed. "I suppose you have to go out now. I really should get home. It's the first day of the new school term tomorrow and I need to be rested and ready."

She could tell he was sad as he cleared the tea things and brought them back to the kitchen. He wrapped the fairy cakes and gave them to her as he took his medical bag and accompanied her to the front door. "Please take the cakes home."

"Thank you, Martin. I expect I'll enjoy them very much. You know, it's supposed to be a lovely day tomorrow, like summer again. I'm taking some of the children down the Platt in the morning for story time. I've got some favourite books lined up, including a fun one about a prince searching for his princess."

"If it's a hot day please remember to stay properly hydrated, Louisa."

She smiled at his gentle concern. "I will. Perhaps we'll see each other there."

"Yes, perhaps we will."

She leaned in to kiss him on the lips and caressed his cheek. The tips of his ears turned pink again. Then they went their separate ways, each feeling better than they had felt in weeks.

 _Just one more chapter to go…_


	56. Chapter 56

_Previously: Martin started out the story contemplating the dawn of a new day and how much he missed Louisa in the wake of the hostage situation, only to be interrupted by an aggressive seagull. Now, with all the tumultuous recent events over, he finally got to have the birthday dinner with Louisa, only for them to interrupted by a medical emergency._

Chapter 56: The Brightest Star in His Sky

Sunday Evening

Newly returned from having stitched up Chippy Miller's hand and determining there was no serious damage, Martin tentatively stepped out onto the stone terrace, a fresh cup of herbal tea in hand. He took a leisurely sip and surveyed the rapidly fading evening, but he couldn't quite relax.

Then came a yip, and the shaggy grey dog slunk up the steps to greet him. The dog sat and looked up at him apologetically, as if commiserating over their shared plight. Martin scowled.

Out of nowhere, a dark shadow swooped down and came at them with a scream and outstretched claws. Martin jumped back and before his astonished eyes the dog leapt and lunged for the shadow, and came down to earth with its jaws clamped tight. There was a sickening _crunch_. The dog sat there with the mangled bird in its mouth, looking every bit as astonished as Martin felt.

Martin just stood there, then turned and went into the house to fetch gloves, some newspaper, and a scrap of mackerel wrapped in a bit of paper napkin. He donned the gloves and placed the newspaper on the ground. The dog placed the bird on it, as if knowing just what was expected of it. Martin wrapped the bloody, feathered mess and put it in the trash bin, atop the bin bag already in there, stripped the gloves off, dropped them in as well, and replaced the lid. He pushed on the lid once to ensure it was on good and tight.

Then, with one last look around to ensure no one was watching, he took the mackerel out of his pocket and unwrapped it. Holding it at the edge with just two fingers to avoid contact, he offered it to the dog, which took it with gentle dignity and swallowed it in one gulp. "Erm… good dog," Martin said.

The dog sat again, as if ready to companionably enjoy the warm evening with him. Martin pulled himself up to his full height, hands clasped behind his back, with his own gentle dignity.

Out over the ocean the sun was slipping beneath the horizon in a final blaze of glory. The evening star, which he knew was bright Venus, was slowly following it down.

The fishermen were securing their boats in the harbour for the night and the lights were flicking on one by one in the village below his vantage point. One window at a certain cottage across the harbour, to which his eye was drawn like the brightest star in his sky, lit up. He knew that Louisa, his perfect Venus, was gazing back up at him.

It had been chilly for September, but the wind had changed lately and it felt like summer again. The sea breeze was gentle, the leaves were still green, and the songbirds were out in force. In particular, the nightingale that used to sing in his garden regularly seemed to have returned.

No ringing phones, no rumbling traffic, no gossipy malingerers, and at last no monstrous gull. This, he thought, was his favourite part of the day. The world was settling into comfortable night, resting before the promise of a new dawn tomorrow.

 _The End._

 _So that's my story. I tried for something a little different to the usual DM fanfic… I hope at least a few readers enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've already got another one in mind that takes place post-Series 8 but it will likely take me months to work on it – so watch this space!_


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